


Who Are You, Really?

by hidesourcheeks (zephyras13)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Sexual Situations, Communication Failure, Dark, Depression, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Fail sex, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, POV Second Person, Polyamory, Present Tense, Romance, Secrets, Sexual Content, Slut Shaming, Substance Abuse, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threesome - F/M/M, Torture, Unhealthy Ideas about Relationships and Sex, Wordcount: Over 150.000, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-04-04 05:37:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 174,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4127127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephyras13/pseuds/hidesourcheeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're fifteen when you find out who your parents are, what they do. Feigning ignorance is your only defense, but it won't last forever. Your parents are murderers and there's only so long you can stay out of their world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So you're feeling tied up to a sense of control

**Author's Note:**

> I feel I should preface this with this story is extremely strange. This is one of those plot bunnies that should probably have stayed in my head, but instead I decided to write it down and subject it to the world. Basically, while I was writing any given scene I would think "how can I make this even more weird" and then wrote that. You have been warned.

* * *

 

You shouldn't have woken up. You shouldn't have gone down the stairs. You shouldn't have looked out the kitchen window into the backyard, wondering why your parents were out by the shed so late. But you did. You wished you didn't, for a long time, but now you know that the only thing worse than knowing is not knowing.

You stop archery. You stop gymnastics. You wear black like her, like the girl, the girl whose name you saw in the newspaper, saw in the “Missing” fliers her father posted all around town. When you first saw her, bloody, beaten, at your parents' knees, you couldn't remember her name. You thought it started with a C. It didn't. It was Emily Doroshenko and she had shockingly blonde hair. You will always remember the way it shined in the moonlight, eclipsed only by her glowing blue eyes. She sat in the back of your History class and didn't talk to anyone. She wore black. Black skirts, black boots, black eyeliner.

They never find her body. You always wonder about that, even after you move away, wonder if one day they will find her, but, as far as you know, they don't. Maybe they never will. Your parents are too smart for that.

Your parents killed Emily Doroshenko in your backyard and you saw. You saw and you ran back upstairs and hid under the bed until you were sure they were asleep, and even then you didn't come out. And now _you_ are the girl wearing black in the back of the class who doesn't talk to anyone.

Your mother hates it, hates your new attitude, hates your listlessness, your _laziness_ , and you know your father feels the same, even if he isn't as vocal about it. They're mad at you all the time, about your mediocre grades, about your anti-social behavior, about your disinterest in exercise. But you don't care. You become a vegetarian for a year, just to piss them off, even though you love pork, and you join the local chapter of PETA. You don't go to any of meetings, but you do cover the walls of your room with posters about animal rights. One of them has a wolf on it. They've always told you to be strong, worried about you being too sensitive. Now you know why, and you will make them fear to try and make you one of them.

That was two towns and a year and a half ago. Now it is a new town, a new house with a lock on the basement door, and a new school. You're sixteen now, almost seventeen, and you should be nervous on your first day as a second semester sophomore in a school with less than 500 students in attendance, but you're not. You don't care. You've done this so many times before. You try to leave the house in your customary all black, but your mother doesn't let you and makes you take one of the jackets from a boutique in San Francisco she gave you that you never wear. She accuses you of being a goth again, even though you don't wear makeup or studded belts or skulls, and despairs of your fashion choices.

It's not that you don't like clothes, or pretty things, you think as your dad drives you to school. You do. Even Before, you never were a tomboy. It's just that you don't have the energy to try on that kind of thing anymore. Black is easier, comfortable, and it allows you to be invisible, to a certain extent.

You don't care about making friends, you think as your mom calls for the third time on the bench as you wait for the assistant principal to take to you to your first period. You can't find your pen, which is humiliating, but you'll live. You're not sure how long you'll be here anyway. There can't be that many werewolves in a tiny town like Beacon Hills. As long as none of them go to your school, you'll be okay.

You should've known better, you realize less than a minute later, when the cute Mexican boy in the seat in front of you turns around and hands you a pen, completely without provocation. You should have known your luck would only hold out for so long.

 

* * *

 

A girl named Lydia Martin with red hair and an arrogant smirk likes your jacket and she and her meathead boyfriend drag you to watch lacrosse tryouts. Putting up a fight is too much work, and anyway, you know this isn't going anywhere. She'll get tired of you soon enough, just like all your old friends did.

The Mexican boy plays lacrosse and he smiles at you from the field. You ask Lydia who he is, but she has no idea. You hope you were wrong, that it was just a coincidence, that he's just a weirdo who hands pens to random girls all the time, but the lacrosse tryouts prove you wrong beyond a shadow of a doubt. He's not even subtle. He _flips_ over three defenders to make a shot. He has an adorable smile as the coach tells him he's made first line (in front of everyone, what is wrong with him?) but you feel sick, wondering how many people he's killed.

Emily Doroshenko killed three people, before your parents killed her, but you remember the way she sobbed at your parents' feet, the way she kept to herself at school, and you know that she didn't mean to. It's why your parents didn't want you to read Harry Potter. They lock up the werewolves in Harry Potter, give them a potion to help them maintain control. Your parents just kill them.

Lydia wants you to come to some stupid party Friday night, but you decline. You couldn't be any less interested in high school parties. Instead you stay home and stare up at the full moon, wondering if the Mexican boy will be at school on Monday, or if your parents are killing him at this very second.

 

* * *

 

The werewolf is at school on Monday. His name is Scott McCall, and you know this because Jackson keeps ranting about how he thinks he's taking steroids during lunch. Lydia doesn't pay him much attention (real solid relationship there) and keeps trying to get you to talk about what it was like living in San Francisco. You excuse yourself because she won't stop asking about the shopping and go to the bathroom on the other side of the school just for something to do.

“Allison?” a voice says as you're meandering back to the cafeteria, and you turn around to see the werewolf-Scott-behind you with a hopeful smile on his face. “It's Allison, right?”

“Yes,” you say warily, and wonder what he wants. Does he know about your parents?

“I'm Scott,” he says, looking suddenly embarrassed, sticking his hands in his pockets awkwardly. “I was wondering...I know you couldn't go to the party on Friday, but there's another one on Saturday night, and I was wondering, would you want to go? With me? It's totally okay if you don't, I thought I'd...just...ask.”

You stare at him and his cheeks redden further, his warm brown eyes darting away from yours. He's...asking you out? you think. Why?

“No,” you say, and his eyes snap back to yours.

“Oh, okay, that's cool,” he says, looking a little hurt, but he puts on a good face. “I thought it cou-”

“I don't date,” you say coolly and try not to stiffen up. There are other people starting to trickle out of the cafeteria into the hallway, and he doesn't look angry. You don't think he'd attack you, but you don't know for sure. You've never been this close to a werewolf, as far as you know.

“Oh, okay,” he says again, awkwardly. “I guess, I'll see you around, then.”

You turn around without comment and go back into the cafeteria. Why did he ask you out? you wonder as you go back to sitting next to Lydia. He doesn't know you. You've never spoken before this. Not to mention you are the daughter of _werewolf hunters_ , though you're guessing he doesn't know that part. Imagine if you'd said yes, you think, your face twisting in disgust. Who knows what could have happened to you?

You're so distracted by Scott's interest that you agree to go with Lydia to the lacrosse game tonight. It's annoying, but you already said yes, and you don't want to have another fight with Lydia, who does not seem like the type to let things go. You tell your dad that you need the car to see the game, and to your horror, he wants to come with you. You immediately back out, making something up about an English paper, imagining nightmare scenarios of finding your parents murdering Scott in your backyard. They can't find out about him, not because of you. You don't think you could live with his death, or anyone's, really, on your conscience.

It ends up being good all around, though, because Lydia stops talking to you after that, and you resume your usual friendless existence.

“Have you made _any_ friends?” your mother asks you in exasperation at the end of the second week of school.

“No,” you say plainly, taking a bag of chips out of the kitchen cupboard and quite unapologetically stuffing your face with them. The only person you've talked to this week is your conversation partner in French class, and you don't think he counts.

“Enough with the chips!” your mother says, grabbing the bag out of your hands. “You keep eating like this, you're going to get fat! You need to exercise!”

“No, I don't,” you say, walking around the kitchen counter into the living room to get away from her. You're twenty pounds heavier than you were at fifteen, but you don't really care about the pudge of fat at your abdomen and your flabby arms. You've stopped caring about a lot of things since you were fifteen.

Two and a half more years, you think, as you lie on your bed in your room, surrounded by unpacked boxes, and stare unseeingly at the ceiling. Then college. You'll let them pay for college, because they're rich and they can afford it, but then you're out of here. What you'll do, you don't know. But it has to be better than this.

 

* * *

 

One of the bus drivers is attacked a couple days later and the entire thing _reeks_ of werewolves. You think of Scott immediately, and feel sick when you notice how pale and shaky he looks the entire day. He had, hadn't he? He hadn't meant to, but he'd done it, and because as far as you can tell Scott is a genuinely nice guy, he's drowning in guilt.

You hate everything.

“Alright, we get it passé composé is hard,” you mutter under your breath as your French teacher, this young African American woman who barely looks older than the seniors harps on about how difficult it is. You already know passé composé, of course. You should probably be in French III, but you didn't bother to take the language placement exam.

Your conversation partner snorts quietly with laughter. You've never had a conversation outside of French class, but you like him. He sits in the back next to you and you can tell he's pretty much just as miserable as you are all the time. He plays lacrosse, but you never see him sitting with any of the other players. He sits alone in the cafeteria, like you.

“Last semester she made us memorize, like, fifty irregular verbs and then repeat them over and over again the entire class,” he says under his breath. He shifts in his seat, reaching up for the hood on his black hoodie that he wears every day, before remembering that he's in class and Mademoiselle Morrell probably wouldn't let him pull it over his head.

“This class is a joke,” you mutter back, tightening your grip on your pen needlessly. “What a waste of time- we could be doing something useful.”

“In high school?” your conversation partner says sarcastically, rolling his eyes at you. “I can't even imagine what that would look like.”

“Monsieur Lahey,” Mademoiselle Morrell says sharply from the front of the class, and all their classmates turn to look at him. “Voulez-vous dire quelque chose à la classe?”

“Uh,” Lahey says, slouching down in his seat. “I don't...no.”

“En français, s'il vous plaît,” Morrell says, walking down the aisle to stand over him in annoyance.

Lahey looks cowed, not daring to make eye contact with her. “Non,” he says, quietly and you feel bad for him. His conversational French is pretty terrible.

“Non, quoi?”

Lahey swallows, clearly having no idea what to say and you hiss: “Non, je n'ai rien à dire,” before you can think better of it.

“Mademoiselle Argent!” Mademoiselle Morrell turns on you. “C'est assez!”

Thankfully she doesn't give either of you detention, but spends the rest of the class looking over at you to make sure you don't talk again.

“Bitch,” Lahey mutters once the bell rings, and you smirk in response as you gather your things.

“Could be worse,” you say once you're out of the room. “Harris is a real piece of work, isn't he?”

“You have no idea,” Lahey scowls, and then says. “See you,” before walking off in the opposite direction.

That night your parents tell you Kate is coming to stay with you for a couple weeks, some bullshit about them needing her for the family business. You're not sure how you feel about this. You haven't seen Kate since you found out. As much as you love her, you're pretty sure she's a hunter too. Kate has always been nice to you, taking you shopping, sneaking you your first beer, covering up for you that one time you broke your mother's vase, but you can't help but remember some of the stories she's told you, how often she's seemed to find other people's pain funny.

Kate is excited and enthusiastic to see you, complimenting your looks even though you've gained weight and you haven't had a decent haircut in more than a year. For a minute, you can almost let yourself believe she doesn't know, isn't part of it, but then you try to help her unpack, and well. Kung-fu death grip. You're not sure you want to know what's in the bag. The lie about what exactly caused your father to go and pick her up at three in the morning just makes things worse.

You sit with Lahey in the back of Econ today as well (you should probably learn his first name, but it seems awkward at this point to ask. He knows yours.) and together you hate on your teachers and half of your classmates. Lahey has a pretty dark sense of humor, which you find funny because you're screwed up like that, and you also learn a lot about Beacon Hills High. You learn that Coach Finstock is even more ridiculous than you imagined and should totally not be allowed anywhere near high school students. You learn that Lydia regularly cheats on her boyfriend with lacrosse players from other schools, but no one blames her because Jackson is just that much of a dick. Greenberg has failed senior year once already. The entire sophomore class thinks that Scott (whose horrible asthma kept him on the bench every single lacrosse game up until recently) and his best friend with the buzz cut (loud and annoying) are sleeping together, because they're attached at the hip and never talk to anyone else.

Coach Finstock yells at Lahey when you laugh too hard, but it's okay, because you use the distraction to glance over at Lahey's paper and learn his first name. It's Isaac.

You sit together at lunch and complain some more about, well, everything, but it's not like you're really friends. You don't talk about yourselves or your lives at all, and you doubt you'll ever spend any time together outside of school. That's okay, though. It's nice to have someone to sit with at lunch, and besides, you don't have the energy to maintain friendships.

The parking lot is backed up pretty badly on your way home, and when you get out of your car to see what the trouble is, you see Scott putting a sickly-looking man into his best friend's jeep.

What's going on? you think as you drive home, anxiety churning in your stomach. Who is that man? Is he another werewolf? Why is he sick? Does it have something to do with Kate coming back to town.

You don't have long to wonder, because fifteen minutes later Scott is at your front door.

“Oh, Allison!” he says, pretending he didn't know it was your house. His shirt is covered in what looks like car oil. “I didn't know you lived he...I'm really sorry, my car broke down,” he points vaguely down your street, but you don't bother to look for it because you know he rides his bike to school, “and when I popped the hood it kind of...exploded on me. I already called a tow-truck, but do you think I could use your bathroom to clean up?”

He's lying, of course, but you don't know why. Why does he need to get into your house? Is it because his friend is sick? Did Kate do something to him?

“Okay,” you says slowly, and then step aside to let him in.

You let him use the bathroom in the guest bedroom, because you figure he needs to get in there anyway. You sit in the living room while you listen to the water running in the bathroom and wonder if you're doing the right thing. It's one thing to not want to get involved in your parents' vendetta, but another to be actively helping werewolves. Scott seems like a nice enough guy, but you don't really know him. You're still not sure if he killed the bus driver.

“Hey, Allison,” Scott says, wandering out of the guest room into the living room. His shirt is badly cleaned off, and you should probably offer to throw it in the washer for him, but it's not like that's why he's really here anyway. “Thanks. I'd better get going.”

He smiles at you winningly and it disturbs you that he might be a murderer and still he looks so innocent.

“Okay,” you say expressionlessly and he leaves quickly. A good thing too, considering your father and Kate come home with groceries five minutes later.

When they think you're asleep that night, you sneak downstairs and listen to your father and Kate's conversation about the werewolf attacks. They think an alpha is doing it, like the one who attacked Kate last night. A Hale? Blaming them for their house fire? They mention someone named Derek, but not Scott. Does that mean that Scott didn't kill the bus driver? Maybe the alpha bit Scott.

Kate says she'd shot the beta. That must have been the man Scott was helping. Was he Derek?

The night before your birthday there is another attack. A man who owned a video store is dead. You watch Scott carefully the next day, and he looks worried, but there's also a sense of determination about him. You don't think he did it. It was the alpha again. Does he know who it is? Is he trying to stop them? You wonder if you should tell your parents, but you're worried they might kill him. At the same time, though, people are dying, and your parents are trying to stop it. Can you really stay silent?

“What is wrong with you?” Isaac asks when you glare at him for making fun of your Geometry homework.

“It's my birthday,” you say truthfully, glaring down at your homework. It's a study hall and both of you are sitting against the wall of lockers doing your math homework. “I hate my birthday.”

You don't, really. You used to, when people made fun of you for being held back, but the last couple schools no one has even known you existed, much less cared how old you were.

“Okay,” Isaac says, looking at you dubiously.

“I'm seventeen,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “I got held back.”

Isaac doesn't ask why. You don't think he cares.

He winces when he gets up after the bell rings, holding his side.

“What happened?” you ask, squinting at him.

“Lacrosse,” he says with a bit of an eyeroll. “Got caught between McCall and Jackson's bitch fight.”

“They fight?” you ask, inappropriately amused by the idea.

“They're idiots,” he says dismissively, as you walk to Geometry.

“He asked me out,” you say without thinking.

Isaac actually turns around to give you a very strange look. “ _Jackson_?”

“No, McCall,” you reply, rolling your eyes, because gross.

Isaac just gives you this look like he doesn't understand why anyone would ask you out and it's so rude that you almost burst out laughing. This is why you get along so well, you think. Neither of you are particularly nice people.

Your parents are not pleased with what your teachers said about you on Parent-Teacher Night, surprise, surprise. You're anti-social and withdrawn. You don't try in class. You have a bad attitude. You've heard it all before, though. And you mostly zone out while they demand you change your act or they'll take away your allowance.

“Hey, Allison,” Kate says, coming into your room later while you're listening to depressing music on your Ipod. “I have a presen-Whoa.”

She stares at your wolf poster above your desk and you try not to let your betrayal show on your face. You always liked Kate. Thought of her as a sister, even. You hate that she's involved in this.

“Save the Wolves,” she reads turning to give you a strange look. “What for?”

“In Alaska people chase them in helicopters and shoot them from the air,” you respond, not able to look her in the eye.

Kate looks disturbed. “Okay,” she says, looking taken aback.

Good, you think, with a surprising amount of anger. This is what I think of you.

She gives you your birthday present, a pendant that's supposedly a family heirloom. It has a wolf on it. It's pretty. You hate it.

“Allison,” she asks, looking at you worriedly. “Are you okay? I know it's been awhile, but you seem...different. Did something happen?”

Yes, you think. I found out what you are.

You wear the necklace to school like you do with the clothes your mother bought you. You always do that for a couple days, and then you go back to wearing black. You hide it under your shirt once you get to school and it feels like a brand, burning “murderer” into your skin. You wonder how far back hunting goes in your family. You could probably find out, but you don't want to know.

You're so filled with rage when you get to school that you immediately look for Isaac to rant at how much you hate your family. But when you find him, your anger fades immediately. He looks horrible. His skin is pale and his eyes are unfocused and tired.

“Are you okay?” you ask, concerned. He looks pretty sick.

“Fine,” he grunts, not looking at you and walks into Chemistry class without a glance in your direction.

You're his lab partner now and sit next to him, but you spend most of the class watching him worriedly. He doesn't take notes. Instead, he stares straight ahead of him blankly. He won't take his hands out of his pockets. When Harris calls on him to answer a question, after utterly humiliating Scott's friend Stilinski in front of the entire class, he doesn't even hear the question and you have to hiss out the answer to him behind your hand so Harris doesn't see. It's only when you see pain flick across his face when he stands after the bell rings, stumbling a little and taking his right hand out of his pocket to steady himself on the lab table that you realize what this is. Every finger on his right hand is bandaged clumsily. You're pretty sure all his nails are broken.

This isn't from lacrosse, you think, feeling sick. This is something else. He'd had a bruise on his cheek the first day you met him, too.

He won't look at you at all in Econ and when the bell rings he tries to leave quickly, but he gets up too fast and he sways dangerously, nearly falling over his desk. You're pretty sure he has a concussion. You take his wrist and pull him out of the room and to your locker where you sit him down and wait until the next bell rings. It's your study period now and it really looks like he needs the break.

“I'm fine,” he grunts out when you look at him carefully after the hallway's mostly cleared.

“Okay,” you say. “Do you want an ice pack?”

He doesn't say anything. You take that as a yes and go to the nurse's office, pretending you banged your elbow on your desk. He's still there when you get back, thankfully, but he won't look at you when you hand him the ice pack. He doesn't put it on his head, but sticks it under his shirt. You wonder how bad it must be under his clothes.

“Did you hit your head?” you ask, watching as his dark blonde eyelashes flutter shut at the feel of the icepack against his bare skin.

He doesn't say anything.

“I think you have a concussion,” you say.

“It's fine,” he mutters, still not looking at you.

You want to ask what happened, but you know he won't tell you, and anyway, you know what it's like to have people constantly bothering you, trying to get you to talk about your feelings. You think you can guess, though. Statistically speaking, it's probably his father. Isaac's never talked about his family and it doesn't look like he wants anyone to know. You will respect his wishes.

It makes sense, though, you think darkly, on your way home. There's no way you could become friends with anyone who didn't have anything seriously wrong with them.

 

* * *

 

A couple days later the school gets closed for repairs and Derek Hale has been accused of murder. You're not really sure what to think. You bring it up with your parents, but your father just looks disapproving and your mother makes some comment about badly-raised children. You gape at them for a second, because you're pretty sure _they_ burned down the Hale House, children and all, and then you have to excuse yourself and throw up your lunch.

You're pretty sure it's not true, anyway. You don't think Scott would be friends with someone who was killing random people. Last week the girl with the crazy hair who sits out most of the time in gym class dropped her stuff all over the floor and Scott was the only one who bothered to help her pick it up. People like that don't help mass murderers. He could have tricked Scott, though. You can't help but notice he isn't the brightest crayon in the box. He asked you out, after all.

But you change your mind about that later that day when he asks you out again after English.

“I said I don't date,” you say, annoyed, because can't he take a hint? You hate how he always smiles at you in the hallway.

“C'mon, it'll be fun,” Scott says, and the grin on his face is uncharacteristically cruel. “I know you'll have a great time.”

He leans into your space, reaching out to tug on a strand of your hair. You jerk back, anger rising in your chest like molten steel.

“Don't touch me!” you say furiously and turn on your heel.

“Oh, come on, don't overreact-” you hear him call after you, but you pay him no heed. You're still furious by the time you get to French class. You've always had a temper. You're pretty sure it's genetic.

“You okay?” Isaac asks you, no doubt noticing the angry flush in your cheeks.

You resist the urge to say something nasty in reply. Isaac is pale and has this horribly underfed look. If not for his height, you doubt he'd had ever made the lacrosse team. Today he has a horrible bruise on his wrist and his nails still haven't grown all the way back. Why is he asking if _you're_ okay? He should worry about himself.

“Fine,” you say, with more vehemence than is necessary and he doesn't try and talk to you again until lunch.

Scott stares at you all through lunch, like he's undressing you with his eyes, and you distract yourself from your rage by imagining chucking your tray at his head.

“Sco-McCall asked me out again,” you say furiously, when you can't keep it to yourself anymore. “And now he's staring at me.”

Isaac looks over at Scott and then back at you in confusion. “Okay...” he says slowly. “Why are you so angry?”

“He's being a creep,” you reply, stabbing your mushy green beans with your fork. You don't care if he can hear you. It's the truth. Maybe he is involved in the murders, you think furiously. Obviously he's good at disguising his true character.

Scott tries to talk to you twice more that day and you ignore him, but it comes to a head in Gym. You're in the middle of your basketball unit and the class is split by gender. You're hanging back while some of the jock girls hog the ball when there's a loud bang from the boy's side of the gym. You turn around to see Isaac on the ground, clutching his side, Scott standing over him looking smug.

He did it on purpose, you realize as a couple boys take Isaac over to sit on the bleachers. He has a bloody nose too. Out of jealousy? Spite? You don't know and you don't care. You imagine going over and slapping that smirk right off his face in front of everyone, but you don't. Instead you go over to sit by Isaac and make sure he's okay. You'll have to keep an eye on him the rest of the day too, in case Scott decides to come after him again.

You sit in the stands during lacrosse practice after school, but Isaac seems to have realized that Scott did it on purpose, and stays away from him on the field. Scott seems to have lost interest in him, and brutally tackles Danny Mahealani instead. Stiles drags Scott aside while the rest of the time crowds around Danny, looking confused and appalled at his behavior, but Scott brushes him aside uncaringly. You see Stiles look up at the sky and you follow his gaze to see-

The full moon, of course. No wonder Scott was acting so out of character. Your anger at him dissipates, to be replaced by wariness. He wouldn't kill someone tonight, would he?

He doesn't kill someone that night, but the murder of two men in the woods is on the news when you get home. It looks like it happened the night before. They were burned to death and your parents and Kate are suspiciously absent. Did they do it? Were they werewolves? It wouldn't be Scott, right? Fire doesn't sound like a very werewolf thing to do, not if he was being influenced by the full moon.

Still, you resolve to keep away from Scott at school. His crush on you is dangerous, to Isaac as well.

Unfortunately, Scott has other ideas.

“Allison?” he says the next day, coming up to stand in front of you and Isaac during your study period. You feel Isaac stiffen up next to you and you force your expression to stay blank. What does he want now?

“Hey, I wanted to apologize for yesterday,” he says, looking genuinely contrite. “I was totally out of line and I have no excuse. I was acting like a total douchebag and I'm really sorry.”

“Okay...” you say warily, unnerved by his repentant look.

He turns to Isaac then and apologizes just as remorsefully. Isaac is even more uncomfortable with it than you are and can barely look him in the eye.

“Christ, Jackson was right,” Isaac mutters once he leaves. “He really is on something.”

You don't say anything, but you feel a sudden shock of pity for Scott. Didn't have an excuse? He had the best excuse in the world. He'd been turned into a monster and had no control over his actions around the full moon. You wonder what it'd be like, to be afraid of what you might do, who you might hurt. Still, did he act like this every full moon? He probably should just not come to school.

Days pass, and as the Winter Formal draws near, it seems like it's all anyone is talking about. Dresses, afterparty plans, who is going with who (Jackson _dumped_ Lydia, did you hear?) Even your mother asks you if you're going, and then gets mad at you when you make a joke about not planning to fit in any of your old dresses. You and Isaac are so fed up with your classmates that you spend most of lunch complaining about the stupid dance. Then Scott snaps a tray with his bare hands.

The entire cafeteria stops to stare at him, but Scott isn't looking at any of them. Instead he's glaring off at...Jackson? You frown in confusion as Jackson smirks and takes a bite of his apple. Scott barrels out of the cafeteria immediately, leaving Stiles behind. You wouldn't have a clue of what's going on, but the naked fear on Stiles's face erases all doubts from your mind.

“Allison?” Isaac says, looking at you strangely. “What's wrong?”

You turn away from your food, suddenly feeling sick. This can't happen again. Your parents can't kill one of your classmates again. You don't know exactly what's going on, but it looks like Jackson has found out about Scott and is blackmailing him. Jackson must have been taunting him from the other side of the room, knowing he could hear him. And no one would believe Scott is a werewolf. No one but your parents.

“I don't feel well,” you tell him and go to the nurse's office. You tell them that you have a killer headache and they let you call your mom to pick you up.

“You want to take something?” your mother asks, checking your temperature and fussing with your bedspread.

“No,” you say hoarsely, shaking your head. You just want to bury yourself under the covers until everything goes away. “I'm fine. You can go back to work.”

Your mother looks worriedly at you, but leans down to kiss your forehead. You just manage to hold back your flinch as her lips come in contact with your skin.

“Alright, call me if you start to feel worse, okay?” she says. “Kate just went out shopping, so she should be back in an hour or so.”

“Okay,” you whisper and then close your eyes until she leaves the room.

You wait until you hear the car pull out of the driveway and then you relax, staring up at the ceiling. You don't want to get involved. You don't want to live in this world. But you can't pretend you don't know what's going on, pretend you don't know what family you're living in, whose daughter you are.

You throw off the covers and head down to Kate's room on the first floor. You pull out her bag from under the bed and grab one of her guns and some ammo, sticking it in your purse. You're back in bed in less than three minutes.

Later that night, you pretend you need to pick a book up at the library and drive to Jackson's house. His mother lets you in and you get her to show you to his room instead of calling him downstairs. What a stupid woman, you think. She doesn't know you. You could be anyone.

You knock on the door to Jackson's room because you don't want to walk in on him jerking off or something, and when he opens the door you shove him back into the room.

“What the hell, _Allison_?!” he says, looking shocked and wronged. His room holds no surprises, just the typical teenage mess with workout equipment in the corner and hyper-masculine posters.

You reach in your purse and take out the gun.

His eyes go wide and he opens his mouth, but you cut him off before he can speak. “Now this is how this is going to go,” you say firmly and tell yourself not to shake. “I am going to talk. I am going to ask you some questions. You are going to answer. You are going to do what I say and I'm going to leave. You don't answer my questions, you don't do what I say, it is going to end a little differently. Do you understand?”

Jackson just gapes at you, mouth wide open. He looks terrified, his blue eye panicked. He's wearing a muscle-shirt and basketball shorts, but he looks very small. You shouldn't, but you like it. You're glad you wore your high-heeled boots your mother bought you for Christmas last year.

“Do you understand?” you say sharply, pointing the gun at him.

“Yes!” he gasps, talking a huge step back, almost stumbling into his dresser.

“Do you know who I am?” you ask first. “What my family does?”

“I-I don't,” he says, looking bewildered. “I don't know, you never, you never said!”

You look at him carefully while he shakes. You're pretty sure he's telling the truth.

“Well, that makes things simpler, then,” you say calmly. “So here is what's going to happen now. You are not going to tell anyone about Scott McCall. You are going to leave him alone, stop blackmailing him or whatever you're doing. If you don't, I will kill you.”

“Sc-M-McCall?” Jackson gapes, staring at you incredulously. “This is about _McCall_?!”

“Yes, it is,” you say calmly, even though you're starting to feel sick. You hope this is over with soon or your confident facade is going to crack. “Make no mistake, you tell _anyone_ , you bother him about it, I will kill you. And I'll get away with it too. No one is going to suspect me.”

“Y-You know?” he says, shakily, gripping the back of his dresser now. “You know he's a...a...”

“I know he's a werewolf,” you say, trying to steer this conversation along. You can feel the adrenaline rush starting to fade and you don't want to be here when you crash. “Right now, you and I are the only ones who know.” Stiles and Derek Hale don't count. “It is going to _stay that way_. Am I understood?”

“Ye-Yes,” he says, eyes a little dewy, and you'd laugh at him if you weren't trying to get out of here so fast. “I won't...I won't tell anyone, I swear.”

“You'll leave him alone?” you say, taking a step forward even though you know you should keep your distance.

“I-I will!” he says, looking terrified at the gun in your hands.

“Good,” you say, lowering the gun, and putting it back in your purse. “Don't forget.”

You leave the room before he can say anything and hear him gasping as you close the door. You don't bother saying goodbye to Jackson's mother and instead walk on shaky legs back to your car. You get inside, lock the door, and gasp for breath as you realize what you've just done. You just threatened someone with a gun. You could go to prison for that, if he talks. You don't think he will.

You put your purse down on the passenger seat and hear the bullets rolls around in their box. You let out a disbelieving snort as you realize why the gun felt so light. You hadn't loaded it. What an amateur mistake, you think, but you're not all that upset about it. It wasn't like you planned to shoot him anyway, not this time.

You look across the street, to the house that must be Isaac's and your smile fades. It's a pretty normal house, but small for Beacon Hills. The lights are on inside and somehow that triggers a particularly vivid fantasy of going in there and shooting Isaac's father in the head. You don't know what he looks like, but you like to think you could identify him on sight.

You don't do it, of course. Instead, you start your car and go home.

Jackson avoids both you and Scott the whole next day and Isaac gives you weird looks when you can't hide your smirk.

 

* * *

 

 The Beacon Hills High Lacrosse team has done well this season (wonder why?) and you go see Isaac play in the semi-finals game that night. Isaac only plays in the first half, but the combined power of Jackson and Scott destroys the other team's defense. You don't really care about the outcome, but you're glad to see that Scott is a lot more subtle. He's stopped doing flips on the field, at least.

You weave through cheering fans on the field after the game is over to find Isaac, but when you finally spot him he's off on the other side of the field talking to an older man that can only be his father. Isaac stands a good three or four inches taller than him, but he's slouched over like he's trying to make himself smaller, not meeting his father's eyes. His father looks irritated and unimpressed, a stark contrast to the rest of the excited parents on the field, and a lightning bolt of white hot rage goes through you at that, even though you don't know what he's saying. Isaac nods seriously at something he says and then turns to see you watching them. His eyes widen meaningfully, fearfully, and you take the hint and disappear back into the crowd.

Your good mood from scaring off Jackson has completely vanished. As you drive home, you entertain furious fantasies about killing Isaac's father.

You need to calm down, you tell yourself, hands shaking on the steering wheel at the light. You don't have any idea what you're doing. Just because you pointed a gun at someone once doesn't mean you can do whatever you want. You've shot a gun before, at shooting ranges a couple times, but you didn't like it, so your dad stopped taking you. You can't just kill someone because they're a horrible person, and anyway, you couldn't get away with it. You wonder idly what your parents would do if you told them he was a werewolf. Or maybe Kate. Kate seems like she'd have no problem doing something crazy like killing your friend's father.

Your rage only increases the next day, when Isaac comes to school pale and sick-looking again, his fingernails broken and crusted with dried blood. You bandage them with the First Aid Kit you've taken to carrying around with you during your study period while he stares blankly ahead, jaw clenched against the pain. Jackson continues to avoid Scott, who is so worried about something that he doesn't appear to notice. You wonder what's going on and try and eavesdrop on the conversations between him and Stiles, but they stop talking immediately when they notice you getting close. Scott stares at you in class when an announcement over the PA comes about the Winter Formal tomorrow night, but he doesn't ask you to go with him.

You're not annoyed, you tell yourself, when you leave. You didn't want him to ask you out, anyway. You'd have said no.

Kate is on her way out of the house and you're immediately suspicious of her when you realize how little you've seen her these past few days.

“Just some boring business stuff,” she says with a dismissively grin and you pretend not to know what's in the duffel bag slung over her shoulder. “When I'm done, we'll hang, okay?”

But you never do. You only see Kate one more time after that, because in two days she's dead.

There's a loud ringing in your ears when your parents sit you down on the living room couch and tell you, and it doesn't go away when they reveal she was behind the Hale House fire and the other recent murders.

“Allison,” your mother says, placing her hand on your shoulder when you don't respond. “Allison, do you understand?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, feeling your eyes prick with tears. You rub at them and look instinctively at your father. “Dad...Dad, I'm sorry,” you say.

Your father nods shortly, grief in his eyes, but there's anger also. Your mother is angry, too, even if she's trying to hide it. Were they really not involved in the Hale fire? You know they have some sort of code (your father certainly talks about it enough,) but you don't know exactly what it entails. It hadn't stopped them from murdering Emily Doroshenko.

You go up to your room and cry into your pillow for a long time, trying not to remember all the fun times you'd have with Kate over the years. Your entire life. You skip dinner and once you're sure your parents have gone to bed, you sneak downstairs and steal Kate's bag of guns under the guest bed. You hide it in the back of your closet and resume your crying.

The next day you wake to the sound of your parents talking downstairs and lie on the upstairs landing with your ear to the floor to listen to their conversation.

Peter Hale, Derek Hale's uncle, disappeared from the long-term care ward at Beacon Hills Memorial. Your parents are pretty sure that he is the alpha and that he and Derek Hale killed Kate in revenge. Worse, Lydia Martin was bitten at the Winter Formal and is in the hospital. Your parents don't think she's a werewolf, though, because otherwise she would be out of the hospital by now. They think Derek or the other beta must have bit her. They don't know who the other beta is, thankfully. And now your grandfather is coming with reinforcements to deal with the werewolf problem. You've only met him a couple times, but he's an Argent. That can't be good.

People stare at you in the hallway on Monday, whispering about Kate behind their hands. Isaac glares at them and looks at you very worriedly, but you wish he wouldn't because he has a black eye today and he moves very stiffly. You wonder how many other bruises there are under his clothes.

“I'm not surprised,” you tell him dully at lunch, picking at your food. You've had no appetite over the past three days. “She wasn't...she wasn't a good person. My family...they aren't good people.”

Isaac's eyes widen and you hope you didn't give him the wrong impression, but you don't really want to talk about it anymore. There's no point. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't tell him the truth.

Scott has a new haircut and seems more relaxed. Did he and Derek Hale stop Peter Hale? Did they join him? You wonder what happened, if he was there, but at the same time you don't want to know. Lydia Martin runs around naked in the woods for two days in some sort of psychotic break, but her bloodwork indicates she's not a werewolf, so your parents aren't too worried.

You hope it's over now. You hope that Scott and Derek Hale got rid of Peter Hale, or he left or _something_ , and that they'll just lay low until your grandfather and the reinforcements leave. You hope things will quiet down so you can grieve for Kate in peace and your parents will have no werewolf targets to murder.

You're such an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for my terrible French. It's been years since I've studied it, so feel free to correct me if it's wrong. My Paint graphic is probably also terrible, but I love it so much I don't care. Sorry, not sorry! Please leave a comment!


	2. And make decisions that you think are your own

Your grandfather comes for Kate's funeral, and even amidst the photographers and his gentle introduction, you can tell he's dangerous. You know he and your father don't get along, and he's clearly trying to get on your good side, which can't be good. You suspect he's even more bloodthirsty than your parents.

But whatever, you'll do your best to stay out of it, play the over-sensitive, animal-rights supporting teenager. Hopefully, he'll end up just as disgusted with you as your parents are and have no interest in making a hunter out of you.

The next day is when everything changes.

"Nice jacket," you say when you sit down next Isaac in French class. It's a little big for him, but it's nice to see him wearing something other than that worn-down hoodie. His black eye is gone too, and that's nice to see as well. Even though it doesn't change anything, you always like it when his injuries heal. It feels like getting another chance, even though he never does.

Isaac gives you a very strange look, searching for something in your face.

"What?" you say, frowning.

He turns away from you then and refuses to speak to you all class. You try and catch him after class, but he ignores you, and you can't find him during lunch. By then it's pretty obvious he's avoiding you, but why? Did...did you do something? You can't think of anything you did out of the ordinary. You're pretty upset by the end of the day, and furious at him and yourself. You haven't had a friend in more than a year. Why do you care so much? And more importantly, why has he decided all of the sudden to ditch you?

You don't find out until the end of the day. When you see Isaac get into a car with Derek Hale.

You stand on the sidewalk outside of the school, frozen in horror, unable to feel anything but the scream rising in the back of your throat.

"What the hell?!" you hear Scott McCall yell, barreling out of the school doors past you, fury all over his face. "Derek, what did you do?!"

He goes up right to Derek's car and you can't hear what he's saying but he looks livid. You're too numb to register what this means. None of them seem to notice you, so you stumble to your car, and get inside with shaking hands. You sit down, shut the door, tears welling in your eyes and let out a truly pathetic sob. You grip the steering wheel, suddenly having difficulty getting air into your lungs, and sob, pressing your face into plastic. You don't know how long you sit there, but when you finally sit up the school parking lot is mostly empty.

"I...I have to go home," you say to yourself, rubbing your wet eyes. Your hands shake as you start the car, and you pull out of the parking lot extra slowly, not trusting yourself.

You're such an idiot, you realize as you make your way home. Respect his wishes?! Isaac wasn't like you! Your parents may be murderers, but they've never hit you, not like Isaac's father did. You're not the same. How could you think for one second you were? Were you so desperate for companionship that you deluded yourself into thinking it was okay that Isaac didn't want anyone to know? You should have told someone. You should have told someone and gotten him the hell out of there. Yeah, maybe it would've been foster care and he would probably never have forgiven you, but at least he'd be alive.

Your parents are going to find out. They already know about Derek Hale and he hadn't even been subtle today, picking up Isaac from school. You guess this means Derek killed Peter and became an alpha himself. Will he make more? You don't care. It's too late for that. Your parents are going to find out and then they're going to kill Isaac.

You get home faster than you should- you were speeding and you're pretty sure you ran at least two red lights- and stumble out of your car. Thoughts of taking one of Kate's guns and shooting Derek Hale in the head flit through your mind, but mostly all you want to do is curl up in your bed and cry.

"How was your day?" your mother asks from the living room where she's sitting with Gerard going over some paperwork. Neither of them look up at you.

You burst into tears.

"Allison!" your mother says, sounding shocked. She gets up and wraps her arms around you, asking you what's wrong, what happened, but you can't tell her. You bury your head in her shoulder and cry and cry, because your parents are going to kill your only friend, and there isn't anything you can do to stop them.

 

* * *

 

Later, when you're tucked safely under the covers, both of your parents come into your room with serious looks on their faces. Your hands curl into fists and you resist the urge to back away from them. You know, intellectually, that they would never hurt you, but you haven't felt safe with them for a long time now.

"Allison, what happened?" your father says, an angry look on his face, like he thinks something might have happened at school. He's right.

Your mother sits down beside you on the bed and strokes your bangs off your forehead. You thought they'd be angry at you at your outburst, but they just look worried. For a split second you want to tell them everything. Explain that Isaac's father was hitting him and Derek Hale took advantage of that. Swear that he'd never hurt anyone. But they hadn't shown any mercy to Emily Doroshenko, even as she begged for her life. You cannot trust them with Isaac's.

"Is this about Kate?" your mother asks, softly.

You close your eyes and nod, glad to have an out.

"You have to be strong, Allison," your mother tells you, shaking your shoulder a little bit. "I know what people must be saying, but you have to remember that they don't know what they're talking about. They don't know you."

You don't care about Kate right now. You can't. Kate is dead and there's nothing you can do about that. Isaac is still alive, but you're not sure how much longer he will be.

"I don't want to talk about this right now," you murmur and roll over away from them, pressing your face into your pillow.

"I know," your father says, sounding intensely uncomfortable. "You don't....you don't have to talk about it with us. But your mother and I were talking, and we think it might be best if you talk to someone."

It takes a second for you to realize what he means, and you almost laugh at the irony. They must think you're doing really badly if they're the ones suggesting therapy. Your parents hate overly emotional discussions and you would guess they find the idea of sending their daughter to therapy distasteful. Maybe you should've pretended you have friends.

"I don't care," you say truthfully, not bothering to raise your head. "Leave me alone."

They do. You hate that you can never manage to hate them.

You don't want to go to school the next day. Last night was the full moon, and if anyone's dead, you don't want to know about it. You stay home, buried in your bed under your covers and your misery. You wonder if you could get your parents to send you away to boarding school. You doubt it. You tried before, but they didn't like the idea of not being able to keep an eye on you. Now that you're apparently a headcase they'll like the idea even less. Maybe if you could somehow convince your therapist that it's a good idea...

You want to stay home the next day too, but your father puts his foot down, and you find yourself walking up to the school door, dread filling your stomach. You couldn't even eat this morning you were so scared and now you feel like your insides are staging a rebellion. You don't see Isaac until Chemistry. He's sitting with some blonde girl you don't recognize, so you end up with Lydia Martin, who also pretends you don't exist. You spend the entire class trying not to stare at the back of Isaac's head, and you can't help but notice Scott and Stiles glaring at Isaac furiously. It make you feel a little better, just a little, to know that you're not the only one horrified at the idea of Derek Hale turning your friend into a werewolf. You leave the cafeteria quickly after you finish lunch, but apparently you weren't the only one with that idea, because you walk right into a confrontation between Scott, Isaac, and the blonde girl he sat next to in Chemistry.

"-ell Derek that he even thinks about biting one more person-" Scott is saying angrily, fists clenched at his side.

"You'll what?" Isaac scoffs, looking contemptuous and carefree. Was he always so tall? He must have been, but you never noticed before. His face is barely recognizable to you. His soft looks are replaced by cruel smirks and you wonder if the human part of you dies when you become a werewolf. If your friend is already dead. "How are you going to stop us?"

"He's using you," Scott replies furiously. "He's just trying to add to his own power. Don't you see that?"

"Oh, please, like you really care," the blonde girl says, looking annoyed. "Cut the noble act. If you want to be strong, you should join us too."

"That's not going to happen," Scott retorts, teeth clenched. "Tell Derek, I want to-"

He stops suddenly and turns to look at you. Shit.

"You want something, sweetheart?" the blonde girl says, red lips curling into a cruel smirk. She saunters over in front of you and there's something about her face that looks familiar, but you can't place it.

"No," you say coolly, not daring to look at Isaac.

"Then fuck off," she says disdainfully. The shirt she's wearing is ridiculous. You've never seen cleavage like that on a sixteen year old before. What does she have in there, a whole box of tissues?

You bite the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from saying something you might regret, something about your family and wolfsbane. Instead you just stare her down.

"You stupid or something?" she snaps, taking a step forward.

"Erica," Scott and Isaac says warningly at the same time.

Erica? You think? Erica Reyes? The girl with the medical condition and crazy hair who rarely participates in Gym and wears sweats everyday? She's unrecognizable as a werewolf. Did it cure her?

You look at Isaac, but he avoids your eye. "C'mon, let's go," he says dismissively. "This is a waste of time."

He doesn't even glance at you as he passes, and you're shocked by how much that hurts.

"Whatever," Erica mutters, rolling her eyes, leaving you and Scott behind. You don't turn around to watch them walk down the hallway, but you hear Isaac laugh at something Erica says, and God, that cuts deep.

"Are you okay?" Scott asks you worriedly, and you blink furiously, realizing your eyes have filled with tears.

"Fine," you say angrily, wiping them away. Haven't you cried enough over the past few days?

"I'm sorry, they're..." Scott says lamely, looking concerned. "I don't know what's going on with them."

"Right," you say dully and turn and walk away, because you probably shouldn't be talking to him anyway.

Being around your parents and Gerard is excruciating. They all look at you as if you might shatter any second and they keep asking if you're feeling okay, like you have the flu or something. Gerard corners you after dinner and makes some speech about the importance of family that you zone out through, nodding and yes-ing at the appropriate intervals. Family, yeah, right. You can't trust anyone right now.

It only gets worse the next day when Erica and Isaac are joined by another boy, the big black kid who always got a whole table at lunch to himself because everyone was too afraid to ask him to move. When you were still talking, Isaac told you that someone said something about his sister once and he punched them and now everyone was afraid of him.

This can't be happening, you think numbly, watching Erica, Isaac, and the black kid walk down the hallways together with arrogant smirks and leather jackets. What is Derek doing? How many is he going to make? Why are they all sophomores? Does he have more outside the school, or is it just them? Does it have to do with Scott, who clearly wants no part in this?

You don't know what to do. This is getting ridiculous. When your parents find out-and they will find out, they're not even trying to be subtle-what are they going to do, kill all of them? You're going to go mad, you think during Chemistry, as you stare at Erica and Isaac's twin blonde heads in front of you, Stiles and Scott across the aisle, whispering together furiously. You're in hell. You have no power, no information, no way out, and pretty soon people are going to die. After Chemistry is over you head straight to the bathroom, fighting the tears welling up in your eyes until you can lock yourself in a bathroom stall, but when you get to the girl's bathroom Lydia Martin, who wasn't in Chemistry today, is standing in front of the mirror, fixing her make-up, mascara lines down her face from tears.

"Can I get a little privacy in here?!" she snaps at you, even though it's a public bathroom, and you turn and walk out immediately, resisting the urge to punch a locker.

You have got to be kidding me, you think, digging your nails into your palms all through Econ. Your life is falling apart and Lydia is sobbing over her stupid boyfriend? Or maybe it's that everyone thinks she's a nutcase now. Whatever.

By lunch you can't stand it anymore. You'll go insane if you spend one more day like this, not having any clue what's going on. You don't have any choice but to get involved.

"What the hell is going on?" you ask, slamming your tray down next to Stiles and sitting down next to him, across from Scott.

"Wh-What?" Scott says, exchanging a confused glance with his friend. "What do you mean?"

"Is Derek Hale insane?" you ask, getting straight to the point. "Is he rabid? Having difficulty keeping his teeth to himself? Where does he get off biting half the sophomore class? Does he have a death wish?"

Scott gapes at you while Stiles chokes on his baked beans. "Y-You know?!" Stiles says, flailing a bit in his seat. "How the hell-"

"Yes, because you all are very subtle," you retort, wanting to get this part over with. You're not here to shock them with your unexpected knowledge. You're here for answers.

"Do your parents know?" Scott asks urgently, eyes widening in horror.

"I don't know," you say, shaking your head. "They know about Derek Hale, obviously, and he's not exactly being subtle, so I can't imagine it'll take long for him to find out about his minions. They don't know about you, and I aim to keep it that way."

"Oh," Scott says and then frowns. "Why?"

"They'll kill you," you say flatly. "I've seen them do it."

Scott and Stiles both go very pale. They glance at each other, seeming to have a silent conversation about what to tell you while you try not to tap your fingers impatiently on the table top.

"Derek...wants a pack," Scott tells you slowly, while Stiles gives him an annoyed look. "I don't know why...he doesn't understand. He was born as a werewolf, so he thinks it's a gift. He doesn't realize how much this can suck sometimes." He pauses and then his eyes widen. "Last month when I was acting like a total jerk, that was because-"

"Yeah, I know, I don't care," you say dismissively. "Is he planning to fight my family?"

"I don't know?" Scott says helplessly. "I tried to talk to him, but he's not listening to me. I think he's done biting people-for now-but we have no idea what he's planning."

Great, you think, biting your lip in frustration. There is just no way this is going to end well, is it?

"Right," you say calmly, looking Scott very seriously in the eye. "You need to stay out of this. They don't know about you yet, and if you get involved, they're going to find out about you."

"What?" Scott says, bewildered. "I can't stay out of this! Look, no offense, but I can't just let your family kill people."

You give him a very strange look. Why would you be offended by that?

"You can't get caught in the middle of this. Don't you understand what's happening?" you say frustratedly. "My grandfather coming here, Derek turning Erica, Isaac, and what'shisname-"

"Boyd," Stiles interjects.

"-it's like battle lines are being drawn."

"I know," Scott says.

"There's always crossfire," you say, annoyed at his earnest expression.

"What am I supposed to do?" Scott says, looking helpless. "I can't just stand by, I can't pretend to be normal."

"Why not?" you say, frowning. "This doesn't have anything to do with you."

"Because I'm responsible," Scott says, nonsensically. "For all of them. You know this is going to get out of control, and if they get hurt-"

"What?" you say, looking at Stiles for an explanation.

"Hey, don't look at me, I had this conversation with him two days ago," Stiles says, holding up his hands defensively. "I happen to agree with you."

Scott glares at him. "And I said-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you're very heroic, the urge to make-out with you is ever-present."

"Stiles!" Scott says, looking horrified.

"So those rumors are true..." you can't help but saying, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" Stiles exclaims at the same time Scott says. "What rumors?"

"Hey, you don't happen to know what's going on with Lydia, do you?" Stiles asks, transparently trying to change the subject.

"What do you mean?"

Scott and Stiles exchange a glance. "Peter bit her," Scott says after a second. "But she's not a werewolf. And she's not dead. As far as we know, those are the only two options. Even Derek doesn't understand what's going on."

"Peter bit her?" you say, your chest tightening. "My parents thought a beta did it."

"No, it was definitely Peter," Stiles says darkly.

You pause for a second to mull this over, but decide it's not the priority here. As long as no one tells your parents about this, Lydia will probably be fine.

"Who killed Kate?" you ask after a second, trying to keep your face blank.

"Peter," Scott says quietly, regret all over his face. "And then Derek killed him, which is why he's an alpha now."

You take a deep breath to steady yourself. Good. At least that's done.

"I'm sorry, Allison, I couldn't get there in ti-"

"I don't care," you lie, shaking your head and clearing your throat. "She deserved it."

Scott looks worried, Stiles, awkward, but you don't care what they think of you. That isn't why you're here.

"Don't get involved," you say, getting up to leave. "I'll do what I can, but I won't be able to protect you if they come after you."

"Then why are you involved?" Scott says, staring at you strangely. "This doesn't have anything to do with you either."

"I don't have a choice, at least not for another two and a half years," you reply bitterly. "And I'm not about to let my parents kill my only friend, even if he's acting like a dick right now."

Scott looks a little pityingly at you for that, even though you're not the only one who only has one friend here.

"No offense," Stiles says dubiously, "but why should be trust you? This could be a trap."

"If I was going to tell my parents about you, I would've done it the first day of school," you say, rolling your eyes. "And did you really think Jackson stopped bothering you all on his own?"

Scott and Stiles gape at you as you walk away, and they're not the only ones. When you leave the cafeteria, you find Erica, Isaac, and Boyd standing outside the door, incredulity all over their faces. You don't know how much they heard, but the damage is done. Isaac, unsurprisingly, won't meet your eyes, but somehow it doesn't hurt that much this time. You're pretty sure Derek told him to stay away from you because you're an Argent. You walk back to your locker, a strange sense of calmness spreading through you. You can do this. You have to.

 

* * *

 

You lie to your therapist. What, like you were going to tell the truth? You tell her what she wants to hear, that you're sad for no reason, that you have a hard time connecting with your classmates at school, that you're angry all the time and you don't know why. You don't talk about your parents, though. You know she's not supposed to tell them what you say, but your parents have a way of getting around the rules. You wouldn't put it past them to steal her notes or something. She wants you to come back and to discuss the possibility of you going on medication, which, wow, that is so going to go over well, but you just shrug your shoulders and let her go outside to speak to your parents, your mind already on other things.

Your parents are angry and silent on the ride home. It doesn't seem like they're angry at you, but at themselves for raising such a failure of a daughter. You would never want to be what they consider a success, but it still hurts to think of the depth of their disgust at the idea that you're clinically-depressed. They barely talk to you at all when they drop you off at home and then go off grocery shopping for dinner, leaving you alone with Gerard. He pretends not to know where you were and ropes you into playing Gin with him in the living room. His attempts to pretend to be a harmless old man disturb you and you quickly start talking about your animal rights interests to put him off. It works as well as it did on your parents and Kate, and you only play one game before he says he has some work to do and goes down into the locked basement. Your family is so stupid.

On Monday, the entire sophomore class is abuzz with gossip about Lydia Martin's latest in-class breakdown. You see Lydia sitting alone at lunch, her head buried in a book in an attempt to hide from her classmates' stares and you can't help but feel a little bad for her. You wonder if you should tell her what's really going on. She's not a very nice person and you don't really like her, but you remember what it felt like to suddenly find yourself in a strange dark world that you couldn't talk to anyone about. You found out through your parents, but Lydia probably thinks she's going crazy after being attacked by a werewolf.

You know when Gerard announces that he's going to be taking over as principal of Beacon Hills High that they've found out about Erica, Isaac, and Boyd. It's not surprising, considering Derek Hale's idiocy, but you spend the rest of the night in a dark mood, hating everyone and everything. It runs into your next day at school when you see him there for his first day. You remember when school used to be your only escape from the house. Earlier this year you'd actually been looking forward to going everyday. To seeing Isaac. But Isaac doesn't talk to you anymore, even switched partners in French class, and now your insane grandfather has invaded your only safe space.

You lock yourself in a bathroom stall during your free period to cry. After a couple minutes Lydia Martin gets into the stall next to yours with the same idea and you start laughing inappropriately at the ridiculousness of the situation you've found yourself in until she screams at you to leave her alone.

You spend the rest of the day with your head down, avoiding Derek's betas and Scott and Stiles. Your grandfather drops by your locker at the end of the day asking if you want to see the lacrosse game with him tonight, but you decline. You don't want to watch Isaac play anymore.

The next day, Stiles and Scott sit down across from you during lunch, twin serious expressions on their faces.

"What?" you say, too tired to be hostile.

"We need your help," Scott jumps in immediately, not even bothering to touch his lunch tray. "This is getting way out of control and someone is going to end up dead if we don't stop this."

"What do you want me to do?" you says skeptically, poking at your mashed potatoes with your fork. "What do you want to do? I don't know about Derek, but my parents are never going to stop. It's like a religion to them."

"Yeah, that's seriously screwed up," Stiles says, face twisting in distaste. "Derek and his minions are probably equally screwed up, so this is all going to end well."

"Unless we do something," Scott insists vehemently. He looks at you earnestly with warm brown eyes and you try and remember that his naivete is dangerous. "If we could just get them to agree to a truce-"

"A truce?!" you say with an incredulous snort. "Yeah, right." Stiles looks a little sheepish, but Scott looks perfectly serious. Oh, you have got to be kidding. "No," you say urgently. "Didn't you listen to anything I said? Don't get involved. The best you can do is avoid detection. I'll do what I can, but I can't help you if they find out about you."

Scott frowns, a regretful expression flickering across his features. "I don't have a choice," he says firmly. "I'm part of this. I'm not going to stand back and let them get hurt."

You open your mouth to argue, but Stiles cuts you off. "Look, you're never going to change our minds, so why don't you do something useful instead," he says, looking at you, but clapping Scott on the back. "What do you know about your grandfather?"

"Gerard? Not much. I don't really know him. He and my father don't get along. He's mostly just been this guy who sends a check in the mail for my birthday," you say. "But he's definitely here because they found out about Is-about Derek's betas."

Scott and Stiles exchange nervous looks.

"What?" you say worriedly. "Did something happen?"

"No, just wondering," Stiles says, shaking his head, but you're not sure if you believe him. He looks fidgety, but then again he's kind of always fidgety.

"Just stay out of it," you snap, annoyed that they won't listen to you for their own self-preservation. "Trust me, you do not want to get on their radar."

You shovel the rest of your mashed potatoes in your mouth and then pick up your tray and leave. Idiots, both of them. How could they possibly think they could do anything? Your only assets are that you have access to your parents' private conversations and they don't suspect you're on to them.

"Allison, wait!" Scott says after you dump your tray and head out into the empty hallway outside the cafeteria.

You turn around and try not to look annoyed. If he dares to ask you out again...

"Look, I wasn't entirely...I should've-" Scott says, lowering his voice and looking around the deserted hallway before continuing. "I'm already involved. Your grandfather knows about me."

That same buzzing noises fills your ears and you close your eyes, suddenly feeling short of breath.

"H-How did he-"

"I broke my leg at the lacrosse game last night," Scott says quietly, looking regretful. "He knows. He threatened me. He threatened my mother."

"Your mother?" you say, confused. "Is she a...too?"

"No," Scott says, looking baffled. "No, she's...normal. She doesn't know anything about any of this."

And he'd still threatened her? A human? You don't think your parents would do that. Did they know?

"He wants me to give him Derek," Scott says, looking very wan.

"Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing," you say without thinking, the familiar anger at Derek Hale, someone you have yet to meet, boiling in your gut.

"That's not going to happen," Scott says sharply, and the determination in his face surprises you. There's a sort of strength about it that you wouldn't usually have associated with Scott McCall. "There's another way, I know it."

It should anger you, his naivete, but instead it makes your stomach tighten and cheeks flush. You desperately want to believe that he's right, that this isn't going to end in a massacre. But how can he? Some crazy old man just threatened to kill him and his mother. You're barely holding it together right now, horrible nightmares about your parents murdering Isaac haunting your sleep. Being in the same room as your parents for dinner invariably causes you to lose your appetite. How is he doing it?

Without thinking, you reach out and cup his face with both hands. His eyes go wide, but you don't give him time to speak as you lean in and kiss him gently on the mouth.

His mouth is very warm against yours and the slightly stubbly skin of his jaw feels good under your fingers. He is very still under your touch and it makes you want to kiss him harder, pull him in close and feel his body against yours.

You don't, of course. You draw back instead and watch his eyes flutter open, a very soft look on his face. You like his dark eyelashes and the way his jaw's kind of lopsided.

"Umm," he says, cheeks flushing. "What-"

"I'll take care of it," you swear, giving him a serious nod. "So stay out of it."

He stares at you as you walk away, dumbstruck, and maybe he wants to say something but then the bell rings and you get lost in the crowd of people exiting the cafeteria.

You don't get another chance to talk to him either, because at the end of the day you notice maintenance workers installing security cameras in the hallways.

 

* * *

 

Gerard has to go. He cannot be allowed to threaten people's innocent mothers. You hope your parents don't know he did that.

You wait until he goes out and then sneak into the guest room to look through his stuff. You write down all the names of the medications he's taking (and they do seem kind of a lot, even for an old person) but you don't end up looking them up because you find the medical report inside the safe next. It's locked, but you've known the combination for years. You used to check it weekly to see what your parents were up to.

Lung cancer. Stage IV. Inoperable. Chemotherapy unsuccessful.

He's dying.

Good, is your first thought, even though you know you shouldn't be so cavalier about someone's death.

You replace all the files where you found them and retreat back to your room to think this new development through. The first question is why don't your parents know. You're pretty sure they'd act differently around him if they knew of his disease. It could just be that he doesn't want to burden his family with a terminal diagnosis or that he doesn't want their pity. Maybe it's why he's suddenly so ruthless he even surprises your father. Maybe he knows it's his last chance to avenge Kate's death. What he doesn't know is that Kate's killer is already dead and he's going after his killer and his newly-bitten werewolf minions. You doubt he'd stop even if he knew the truth, though.

You're not really sure what to do with this information. You weren't able to find how much time he has left, but it's probably irrelevant if he's well enough to still be walking around and attacking werewolves.

It takes you two days to realize it and it's only because you eavesdrop on your family's conversations at night in which Gerard expounds upon the necessities of capturing Derek and finding out what he knows and overhearing a conversation between two lacrosse players about how they wonder what medication Scott's on now that relieves his horrible asthma.

It can't be what you're thinking, right? There's no way your werewolf-murdering grandfather would ever want to become a werewolf himself. That would go against everything they believed, wouldn't it?

You'd like to share your theory with Scott and Stiles, see what they make of it, but you can't talk to them in school anymore and you never see them anywhere else.

So you do the next best thing. You purposefully screw with your grandfather's life in revenge.

"Were you even going to tell me?!" you shout, striding into the hallway the second your parents come home.

"Allison, what-?" your mother says, understandably. You've never yelled at your parents before, even before you found out what they really did with their lives. In recent years, you've mostly been quiet and sullen around them, completely uninterested in interacting with them all, much less starting fights.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about!" you yell, fists clenched at your sides. It feels surprisingly good to yell at them, even though you're not really angry with them over this specific issue.

"Allison, what is going on?" your father asks, face creased with disapproval at your outburst.

"He's dying and you weren't even going to tell me?!" you shout, voice shaking with rage. You're murderers and you tried to make me one of you with the gymnastics and the archery lessons? The self-defense classes? When you hunt down sick people who can't control themselves and shoot them in the head? "What, were you just going to wait until he dropped dead?"

Your parents look bewildered.

"Gerard!" you scream, your voice reaching a pitch you didn't even realize was possible. "Don't try and lie to me, someone from the oncology ward called about counseling!"

It's a pretty weak excuse. There's no way a medical professional would tell some random girl over the phone that her grandfather was dying. But your parents have no reason to think you'd be lying and you can tell they believe you by the shocked looks on their faces.

"What?" your father says, staring at you in confusion. "Allison, what are you...Allison, Gerard's not dying. It must have been a mistake or a prank..."

"They said his name! And a prank?" What, did they think that Derek called your house to tell you that your grandfather was dying of cancer? "Who would do that? Why do you think he's come here after all these years? He wants to be with his family! And all those pills he's always taking, what do you think they were for?"

You see it sink in on their faces and let out a snort of disgust. "You really didn't know either," you say, trying to tamp down the rage still burning in your chest. "Great. I'll just watch another family member die then."

You turn and take the stairs up two at a time.

"Allison!" your dad shouts, but you don't look back.

"Leave me alone!" you scream and slam your room door behind you in a fit of childish rage.

You fall back on your bed, breathing heavily from your quick climb up the stairs and grin at the ceiling as you hear your parents talking indistinctly on the ground floor. Hopefully now they'll question Gerard, or even better, do as you did and look through his things in the guest room.

After half an hour they leave the house, without coming upstairs to talk you out of your sulk or reprimand you for your bad behavior and you take it as a good sign. They don't return until three hours later, and when they call you down the stairs, you feel sick when you see Gerard sitting on the couch next to your mother.

"Sit down, Allison, we need to talk to you," your father says seriously.

Shit, shit, shit, you think as you sit down on the arm chair across from your grandfather. He has a penitent look on his face that does not bode well. You should have thought this through better.

Your parents explain to you in their stilted, awkward, we-don't-like-talking-about-our-emotions way that Gerard is indeed dying and hadn't told anyone for fear of upsetting them. It's very sad and unfortunate, but he's lived a full life blah-blah-blah-blah-blah. It's like they got this crap from a bad Lifetime movie.

"I'm sorry that you found out that way," Gerard says, looking sad, and contrite, and generally harmless. "I hope you understand why I was reluctant to tell you. Your father and I...well, we haven't always been on good terms in the past." He even pauses to give your father a regretful look. It's a nice touch and by the way your father's eyes soften you can tell it works. "But after Kate...I-" He clears his throat uncomfortably. "I wanted to be with my family."

"Okay," you mutter, looking down at your feet uncomfortably. Hopefully it'll look like you're embarrassed at his display of emotion, when you're really berating yourself for your stupidity. Of course your parents wouldn't automatically assume Gerard was planning on getting himself bitten by Derek to cure his cancer.

You want to ask him how much time he has left, but you think you've already pushed it enough for today. He'd probably lie anyway.

You think that's the end of it, after that. It's almost disgusting how things go back to normal between your family, though you do see your father making more of an effort to be friendly to Gerard. God, you can't believe you actually helped bring them closer. It's not until it's too late that you realize that while your parents might have been distracted by the revelation of Gerard's imminent death to question how you got hold of that information, Gerard wouldn't be.

Two days later, when you're parking your car outside your house after coming back from school, he strikes.

You actually see him coming, see him close the garage door behind you and stride towards you with a murderous expression on his face, but there's nothing you can do. You're trapped.

He slams you face-first against the wall so hard you see stars dancing in front of your vision. You try and struggle out of his grip, but he's surprisingly strong for an old man dying of cancer and he pins your arms behind your back with ease.

"Oncology ward, huh?" he breathes into your ear. "Clever, but not clever enough. You've been sneaking through my things, haven't you? But why? What did you hope to achieve with that little stunt?"

"Let go," you say furiously, starting to panic, breathing heavily against the wall. Your parents won't be home for hours. What is he going to do to you?

"Or what?" he says, tightening his grip on your wrists. "Now tell me what you know! Who told you to look through my stuff? Was it one of Derek's betas? Your classmates? Or was it the Scott McCall?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" you gasp, still trying to squirm helplessly out of his grip. Your left cheek aches where it's pressed into the wall. You hope it won't bruise. "I just...I was just curious, I didn't mean to-"

He flips you around and shoves your back against the wall again, crowding into your space to look at you as if he's trying to stare into your soul. You cower and try to look as terrified and innocent as possible.

"If you get in my way again, I'll kill you," Gerard say, growls practically, shoving your shoulder back against the garage wall roughly. "I'll kill you, I'll kill your mother, I'll kill your father."

"What?" you gape at him, mouth dry with horror. He's insane. You have no idea. To think he would go this far...

"And if you tell anyone about this, they'll never believe you," he says, a smug smile on his face that you would probably despise if you weren't busy being so terrified. "Do you understand me?"

"Y-Yes," you choke, shaking with fear.

"Louder, I can barely hear you!"

"Yes!" you gasp, probably too loud, feeling tears prick at your eyes.

"Good," he says decisively and steps back, the hard look on his face making him barely recognizable from the genial, smiling grandfather he'd presented himself to be at Kate's funeral. Without another word, he turns away and goes back into the house, shutting the basement door behind him.

You gasp and slide down the wall to sit on the dirty garage floor, tears spilling down your cheeks. You believe him. He would definitely kill you, kill your mother, kill his own son. How is this happening?

You sit there shaking for a while before you pull yourself to your feet and open the garage door again. You can't stay in the house alone with him.

You get into your car and drive to the nearest parking lot, a strip mall with a Taco Bell, a chiropractor, some tax attorney's office, and a 7-11. You sit in your car and watch the sun go down, cursing the day your parents decided it was a good idea to move to Beacon Hills. Everything would have been better if they never came here. Kate would still be alive. You would have never met Isaac, never let yourself be hurt by his betrayal. Gerard would never have come here to kill him and Scott and every other person who had the misfortune to be bitten by Derek Hale.

Your cheek is bruised. You examine it in the rearview mirror in the fading light and curse. You could probably steal your mother's concealer to cover it up, but you're not sure you can get in the door without them seeing. You'll have to buy some yourself.

You go into the 7-11 and are just rounding the corner into the toiletries aisle when you see Boyd at the other end of the store, looking at you suspiciously. You pretend not to notice and focus on finding the right shade of concealer, but surely he must be able to hear your rising heart beat, or see the flush rising in your cheeks. You check out quickly and nearly jump out of your skin when you turn around at the counter to see him standing behind you with a coke and a pack of M&Ms in his hands. He gives you an extremely unimpressed look, but you still give him a wide berth as you exit the store and hurry to your car. Unlike Erica, who has taken to bullying other people in your class in what you assume is revenge, and Isaac, who is more than happy to help, Boyd seems to be more level-headed, from what you've seen of him. But you don't really know anything about him. And considering your parents are trying to kill him, you know it's best to keep your distance. You apply the concealer to your cheek and lie to your parents about being at the library when you come home. Gerard acts completely normal, as if he hadn't just threatened your life, the lives of every person in this room a couple hours ago, and you don't dare look at him for fear of seeing that same manic look in his eyes. You excuse yourself early, ostensibly to do homework, but instead you curl into bed and stare at the door, ears straining for any sign of footsteps approaching.

You don't sleep very well that night, the fear that he might sneak into your room and murder you ever-present. You need to buy a lock for your door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And everything is terrible. :D 
> 
> Please comment!


	3. You are a stranger here, why have you come?

You spend a week in abject terror, avoiding even being in the same room as Gerard as much as possible. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to have much interest in you, and has gone back to buttering your parents up, clearly trying to get on their good sides. Your parents seem a little taken aback, but you can tell it's working, especially on your father, who is most swayed by the nostalgia factor. He even chides you for keeping your distance from Gerard, accusing you of being insensitive to your grandfather's illness. You want to tell him right then and there what happened, what Gerard was really planning, but you keep your mouth shut because you know better than that. He probably wouldn't believe you anyway.

Both Scott and Stiles try to catch you after school, but you ignore them, aware that Gerard could be watching your every move. And you have nothing to say to them anyway, no way to help them. You can't do anything for them, especially if they insist in getting involved in the war between Derek and your family.

But at school you can't always stay out of the crossfire, especially when Derek's betas know who you are.

It starts with your locker in the girl's locker room being broken into and your stuff stolen, escalates to Erica "accidentally" shoving you to the floor during Gym, and ends with her knocking your lunch tray all over you as you make your way to sit down in the cafeteria.

The entire cafeteria goes quiet and stares as you spit out marinara sauce that's gotten all over your face and upper half of your chest. A couple freshman boys hoot with laughter and clap, but everyone else is looking uneasily at the smirk on Erica's face. She's already gotten a reputation.

"Oh, Allison," Erica says patronizingly, looking at you down her nose. "You really should be more careful. That looks like it's going to be a _bitch_ to get out."

You don't even glance in her direction, or Boyd's, or Isaac's, and carefully pick up your fallen tray and dishes and get rid of them before heading to the bathroom. There's no point in talking to her, not if you want to stay out of this mess. People stare at you in the hallway as you exit the cafeteria and you hope no one is watching the surveillance feed in the front office right now. You're in the middle of wiping the marinara sauce and noodles off your black shirt with damp paper towels when the bathroom door bangs open. Your eyes barely have time to widen before Erica shoves you back into the paper towel dispenser.

"You little _slut_ ," Erica snarls, eyes flashes gold, crowding you in against the wall. "You think you're so tough? I could rip out your throat before you could yell for daddy."

"I'm sure," you say, tone sarcastic, but you mean it. She could do anything to you right now and there'd be nothing you could do. A dull pain in the pit of your stomach is all you feel at this realization, though. You can't even muster the energy to be afraid. All you feel is a blanketing sense of resignation. She's a werewolf, and you're a powerless teenage girl. You can't stop her.

"Not even going to fight back, huh?!" Erica yells, furious at your lack of reaction for reasons you don't understand. She slams her fist into the wall next to your face and you can't suppress your flinch at the sound of breaking plaster.

"Erica, don't!" Scott yells, bursting into the girl's bathroom, Isaac and Boyd on his heels. He rips Erica away from you and throws her against the sink, placing himself in between you and her protectively. "What the hell do you think you're doing!?"

"Jesus, McCall, a girl can't have a little fun?" Erica says with a nasty smirk, pushing herself off the sink.

"Back off," Scott growls, claws lengthening and Erica, Isaac, and Boyd all stiffen up immediately. Scott's shoulders seem broader than you thought they'd be, and you focus on them for something to look at. You don't dare look at Isaac.

"Wow, you really must want to get in her pants," Erica says cruelly. "You could do better. Meeting the family'll definitely put a damper on things."

"Shut up," Scott retorts angrily. "You leave her alone, Erica, or I'll-"

"You'll do what?"

"Erica," Boyd says warningly, shifting nervously behind her. "Let's just go, okay?"

"No one wants to have any fun," Erica says and then her voice goes hard. "Hey, look at me when I'm talking to you!"

You do, automatically, and her lips curl up in a triumphant smile, like she's won something.

"The bell's going to ring soon," Isaac says out of the blue, and when you look at him he has that familiar tenseness to his shoulders that he always got when he talked to teachers and his father. He is pointedly looking at Erica, not at you.

Erica lets out an annoyed sound of disgust. "Oh, this is just so typ-"

The bathroom door opens before she finishes her sentence and Lydia Martin jumps a little when she sees them all standing there.

"What are you doing here?" she demands, crossing her arms over her chest. "This is a _girl's_ bathroom."

"I'm sorry, did we interrupt your daily sobfest?" Erica turns on her, somehow even more enraged by Lydia's presence.

"No, I just object to trash where I fix my hair," Lydia says disdainfully, looking disgusted at the lot of them.

Erica lunges at her, and it takes Scott and Boyd to drag her away from Lydia out of the bathroom, Isaac following them without a glance in your direction. You're left standing in the bathroom with Lydia, who looks appalled at Erica's behavior.

"Crazy skank," she mutters, and then looks down at your shirt in disgust. "You do realize you have tomato sauce all over you, don't you?"

You push off the wall shakily and pull more paper towels out of the dispenser to continue cleaning off your shirt. But your hands shake and you can hear blood rushing in your ears, to the point where you almost feel dizzy.

Isaac hadn't even looked at you. He'd just stood there, like you never meant anything to him at all. Was it completely one-sided then? You thought...you thought you were friends, at least a little. But it doesn't seem like he ever thought of you as anything more than a temporary companion to sit with at lunch. And why would he? You're not good friend material. You're cold and closed off, you're not funny or entertaining. You're pretty, though you'd look better if you lost twenty pounds, but that's not exactly important friendship criteria.

Rage and despair fill you up to the brim at once, until you can't stand it anymore, and then you just _lose it_. You tear off your black shirt, struggling to get it over your head for a stupidly long amount of time and then chuck it at the mirror. It hits the mirror with a gross splat and then falls down to the sink, leaving a red marinara sauce stain in its wake.

Lydia leaves immediately, the bathroom door swinging behind her, presumably to find a bathroom with people less crazy than she is, not more, and you sink to the disgusting floor in your bra with a broken sob. You don't think you can do this for much longer.

But then, fortunately, you don't have to. Because that's when everything changes.

 

* * *

 

You're putting groceries in the trunk of your car when it happens. You've taken to doing the grocery shopping as an excuse to get out of the house and it's about eight at night because you took a four hour nap after you got home from school. You're leaning down to pick up the milk gallon at the bottom of the cart when someone clears their throat behind you. You stand up slowly and are not at all surprised when you turn around to see Derek Hale and his three betas clad in douchey-looking leather jackets standing a couple feet from your car.

"Allison, right?" Derek Hale says, with an all-together too pleased smirk. It's the first time you've really had a good look at him and you can't help but notice despite the stubble, he's very handsome, though shorter than you expected. Maybe it's because both Boyd and Isaac are freakishly tall next to him.

You're standing alone in an almost deserted parking lot at night in a tiny town, you realize, chest beginning to feel cold. This is not going to end well.

"What do you want?" you say, shocked at how instead of fear you find yourself suppressing your rage. How dare he come here and threaten you? How dare he take advantage of vulnerable teenagers for his own personal gain, caring nothing for the danger he's put them in. If they survive the next few months they'll be lucky, much less into adulthood.

"I've been hearing some interesting things about you," Derek says, and you're not at all surprised by the cruelty in his face. It makes sense from what you know about him. "I figured it was time we met."

You have nothing to say to this and remain silent, muscles tense with anticipation to flee or fight, even though logically you know you have little chance at either.

"You've been giving Scott McCall information about Gerard's plans," Derek says, sauntering closer. Your hands clench into fists and you tighten your jaw to keep yourself from shaking, even though he must hear your panicked heartbeat. "And you're going to do the same for me."

"And why would I do that?" you ask, hating yourself for the querulous tremor in your voice. "I don't care what happens to you," you say, trying to focus on all the reasons you despise him to strengthen your resolve. "You and Gerard deserve each other; you can kill each other for all I care."

You know you've gone too far when Derek's eyes flash red and before you can make a move, Derek grabs you by the collar of your shirt and slams you into the side of your car.

"Let me give you a little incentive," Derek snarls and a gasp of fear and pain escapes your mouth as his fangs lengthen and you feel his claws poke the skin beneath the collar of your shirt. "You tell me what I want to know, or I'm going to rip out your throat. With my teeth."

"Go to h-hell," you say shakily, but even as you say it you wonder what's wrong with you. He could kill you. You have no way of knowing if he's bluffing or not. You're all alone in a parking lot at night. No one is coming to your rescue. Why does the prospect of death frighten you less than your disgust at the idea of helping Derek Hale? There's probably something wrong with you. Normal people would be begging for their lives right now, but instead you're...numb. Resigned.

"Or maybe," Derek says contemplatively, leaning in so close that his breath ghosts your cheek and causes your stomach to turn unpleasantly. "Maybe I could get a better use out of you. If I were to turn you...you'd have no choice but to help me or end up with an Argent bullet between your eyes."

Now you feel afraid. Your eyes widen, and you try to struggle out of his grip, but it's no use. He's no doubt several times stronger than you and he holds you effortlessly against the side of your car. You can't be a werewolf. He's right, your parents really will kill you. They wouldn't see you as their daughter anymore. You'd be just another monster to them.

"Let go!" you gasp, trying to push yourself off the car. You can't be a werewolf. You'd rather die than live for the rest of your life with the fear of death hanging over your head at any moment.

"You have to admit it would be rather ironic," Derek muses, smirking at your feeble attempts to get free. "To have a werewolf Argent right under their noses. Can you imagine their faces? Do you think they'd kill you themselves, or do you think they'd make you do it? You Argents have always had a twisted sense of hon-"

"Derek, don't!" Isaac says all of the sudden, and you both freeze and turn to look over at him in surprise. Isaac's face is very white, and he looks like he regrets speaking at all. He isn't looking at you, but at Derek instead, eyes wide and fearful.

"What did you say?" Derek growls, leaning back, but keeping his fist tight in your collar to prevent you from moving.

"I-" Isaac stutters, the panicked look on his face quite clearly showing that he wishes he could sink into the floor, or at least duck his head and look away, but for some reason he doesn't. "She...she doesn't know anything. Just... just leave her alone."

You don't know what else to feel than shock at his defense of you, but you're distracted by the utterly terrified look that Erica and Boyd give him in response.

"Really," Derek says, slamming you against the car door again so hard you let out a pained cry when your head comes in contact with the car door. "And how do you know that?"

"Derek, please, just-" Isaac says helplessly, looking at you for the first time in weeks. He looks terrified, and you feel sick as you realize his expression is mirrored on Erica and Boyd's faces.

"You'll do what I tell you," Derek says firmly, and then pushes your head to the side, exposing your neck and leaning in, but his eyes are on Isaac.

"Derek!" Isaac yells, leaping forward and too late you realize that this isn't about you at all. Derek has no interest in turning you. This is a test, for Isaac, and he just failed.

"Wait-" you start, voice muffled against the car window, squirming to get free, and then there's the sound of a fist connecting with flesh and Derek is thrown backwards onto the pavement.

You push off the car door and for a second everyone just stares at each other, shocked, Derek on the ground, Isaac standing next to you, slowly lowering his fist.

Then Derek's expression turns murderous. Isaac barely has time to cower backwards before Derek lunges for him, hitting him so hard in the solar plexus that Isaac crumples to the ground immediately without a sound.

"So this is how you repay me?!" Derek says furiously, anger and betrayal all over his face as he kicks Isaac in the face, shaking with rage. "After all I've done for you?"

"Derek, don't-" Isaac gasps, trying to drag himself away, nose spewing blood. Behind him Erica and Boyd look horrified, but neither of them lift a hand to stop Derek, presumably afraid Derek will go after them as well.

"I told you when I turned you that your allegiance is to me, not to _her_ ," Derek says, circling Isaac, eyes glinting red. "And yet you still don't seem to realize that she is the _enemy_."

"Derek, I didn't mean to-" Isaac pleads weakly, voice hoarse as he clutches his chest where Derek punched him. "I just meant...I just meant she didn't do anything..."

"Stop defending her!" Derek shouts angrily, reaching down to dig his claws into Isaac's bicep, heedless of Isaac's scream of pain. It resonates in your ears, but worse is the flinch on Isaac's face right before he did it, the way he braced himself for it, as if he expected nothing less. As if this isn't the first time Derek has hurt him.

"She is _not_ your friend!" Derek continues furiously, squeezing harder until blood starts to drip down from Isaac's jacket sleeve onto the pavement. "She's a hunter and a liar, and she will _use_ you. It's what they do. They twist themselves into your head and when you're least expecting it-"

You stop listening to his angry diatribe as you realize that no one's going to stop this. Erica and Boyd are too afraid of Derek to intervene. Your best bet is to hope for one of the few people left inside the grocery store to come out to their car, but you can't rely on that alone. And fury is building itself up in your body, like water in a teapot, threatening at any moment to boil over. You can still feel the residual aches of his disgusting hands on your body, the way he pushed you around like you were nothing. All you can see is the pain on Isaac's face, all you can hear is his pleading for Derek to let him go, all you can think of is the fact that this might not be the first time Derek has hurt him, that Derek is not the kind of man who is above using pain and fear to get his point across.

You leap for the keys in your purse and scramble to open the driver's side door with shaking hands, hardly believing your luck when no one seems to notice or try and stop you. This really was never about you anyway, was it? It was all about whether your former friendship with Isaac was a threat to Derek's influence over him, and now that Derek's found the answer he doesn't care about you anymore.

"Now how am I supposed to trust you, Isaac?" Derek continues while you're fumbling with the latch on the box under the passenger seat. "If you can't even understand that hunters are the enemy, I'm not sure how I can-"

The first shot catches him in the shoulder and the second misses entirely. You were aiming for his chest, but you're just glad that you were able to hit him at all. You haven't shot a gun in years, and you've certainly never shot a person before. You didn't remember how loud it was, or how strong the kickback was going to be, even on Kate's gun.

Derek drops to his knees and shouts in pain, clutching at his shoulder and then glares up at you in fury. His eyes are still human, though, and it makes it easier to say what you have to next.

"Move and the next one goes through your head," you snarl, and hope he can't tell that you probably wouldn't be able to hit him in the head.

Erica and Boyd growl and step forward, their eyes flashing gold, and you fire another shot at their feet. "Don't get any closer!" you yell, the gunshot ringing in your ears painfully.

They stop in their tracks, eyes wide and gold, and everyone stares at you in shock. You don't know what to do next, you realize, clutching the gun tightly with both hands, feet in the stance your father taught you. Should you leave? Threaten them more?

Isaac's nose has stopped bleeding, doesn't even look broken anymore, but the uncertainty and shock in his eyes as he looks up at you from the ground show no signs of abating. You've never seen him look like that before.

"Isaac, get in the car," you tell him slowly, looking away from him and focusing on Derek instead.

There is a long pause in which Derek's eyes widen and no one moves.

" _Isaac_ ," you say again, gun shaking slightly in your hands, and hate the way your voice sounds like begging. You're too afraid to take your eyes off Derek, and your shoulders slump imperceptibly when you see him scramble to his feet out of the corner of your eye.

"What the hell do you think you're doi-" Derek starts, snarling at Isaac, eyes glinting red.

"You shut your mouth!" you shout, jabbing your gun at him threateningly. You can feel your face flushing with anger and know you have to restrain yourself before you do something you won't be able to take back. "You ever...I ever see you again, I will _kill_ you, do you understand me?"

You don't bother to wait for his reply and turn to give Isaac a pleading look. He's standing on the other side of your car, gaping at you like you've grown an extra head, but he moves at the same time you do to open the car door and less than ten seconds later you're speeding out of the parking lot, leaving half your groceries behind in your shopping cart and your trunk still open.

" _Shit_ ," you say hoarsely once the lot disappears from view. You click on the safety and throw Kate's gun into the backseat, starting to feel lightheaded and weak as you speed down the dark street without any clue as to where you're going. "Shit!"

Isaac says nothing. He is very still in the passenger seat next to you, hands clenched into fists in his lap, and his silence just makes things worse. Why doesn't he say anything? Doesn't he realize how screwed you are?

"Are you okay?!" you demand, turning away from the road to look at him, even though you probably shouldn't. You're pretty sure he's healed by now, but his lack of anything to say is freaking you out. "Isaac, are you _okay_?"

He looks at you uncertainly, like he's not sure why you're asking and then nods, looking down at his hands in shame.

That's the last straw and you have to pull over onto the shoulder and park before you kill both of you with your distracted driving. You slump onto the steering wheel and gasp for breath, trying not to let the weight of what's just happened crush you. There has to be a way out of this. You just have to think.

"Allison...?" Isaac says, sounding worried. "Are you-"

"Shut up!" you snarl and you hate when he actually listens to you. "Shit!"

You lash out and punch the steering wheel, but it doesn't help relieve the fury building up in your chest, it just bruises your knuckles.

Isaac jerks in his seat in shock and you realize to your shame that the last thing he needs is for you to lose control. You slump against the steering wheel again and take deep breaths to calm yourself down, clutching at the wheel to keep your hands from shaking.

When your heart has stopped pounding almost painfully in your chest, you look up at him carefully. Isaac's face is completely blank, but his shoulders are stiff, like he's preparing himself for anything.

You turn and look down that dark road. You've driven into the sort of no man's land between the forest preserve and the retail area. There are only a couple street lights and a gas station on the right. No cars have passed you this entire time, but you know you can't sit here forever.

"Where...where do you want to go?" you ask him, turning back to look at his bloody face. You know you should just take him home, but even as a werewolf you don't want him around his father. Maybe his dad leaves him alone now because Isaac has the strength to fight back, but your blood boils at the thought of bringing him back to that...that _man_.

Isaac mirrors your earlier movement and stares out through the windshield at the road ahead.

"I can't...I can't go home," he says quietly. "My dad'll...Derek kicked the crap out of him, so I can't...I can't go back there."

At least Derek was useful for something, you think viciously, taking an inordinate amount of pleasure at the thought of Isaac's dad getting what was coming to him. You hope Derek sent him to the hospital.

Isaac inhales audibly, his shoulders shaking, and they don't stop. You watch as his face contorts, eyes squeezing shut and breath getting faster even as he tries to keep himself from panicking, fingers digging into his jeans.

"Isaac!" you say worriedly, reaching for him, but your seatbelt hampers your movements.

"I don't..." he gasps, ducking his head down to rest on his knees. "I don't have anywhere else to go. I can't...I can't go home, my dad'll...he'll kill me and I don't-"

"Isaac!" you say again, struggling with your seatbelt. You've never seen him like this before, not even when he came to school covered in bruises, and it scares you more than it should. Isaac has always kept a tight lid on his emotions, even though he's never been able to hide the misery from his expression. To see him breaking down like this, scared and panicked...it's not right. It shouldn't be like this.

You lean across the divider and wrap your arms around his neck awkwardly, pulling him closer so that his breath ghosts over your cheek.

"Isaac," you say, your voice shaking horribly. "Isaac, it's going to be okay, I promise."

Isaac lets out a pained sound, his eyes squeezed shut, but you can see tears on his cheeks and for some reason that triggers your own eyes to water. It's... it's just... _unacceptable_. This can't be allowed to go on. You can't...you won't let him be like this, you have to stop it somehow, make it better.

You pull his face closer so that your foreheads press together and you cup his face, brushing your thumbs over the wetness on his cheeks.

"Hey," you whisper, cursing inwardly that this stupid divider is in the way. It shouldn't be there, why is it in the way, you need to _hold him_. "Hey, Isaac, please, it's going to be okay, I promise. You're going to be okay, I'll make sure of it."

Isaac chokes out something incoherent and grasps and your arm, holding on so tight it hurts, but you don't pull away.

"It's okay, it's okay," you whisper frantically, desperate to get that horrible look off his face any way you can. "Isaac, please. We'll figure it out, I promise."

Isaac shudders and takes a deep breath and his grip loosens on your arm, tension draining from his face, though he doesn't open his eyes.

"Hey, hey," you whisper, blinking furiously against the tears pooling in your eyes, too upset to examine why you're even this upset in the first place. You're usually not this emotional.

"Allison, I'm...I'm sorry," Isaac whispers, opening his eyes to look at you tearfully. His eyes are very blue, even in the dark, and the look he gives you is so wounded you have the strange urge to cover his eyes, as if that could make it go away. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...Derek, he...I'm sorry, I should've-"

"No, no, it's okay," you say, shaking your head, because you can't care about that right now. All you care about is making sure he stops crying, stops looking at you like that. It makes you want to take him home and wrap him up in your bed where he'll be safe. It also makes you angry, fills you with a protective rage that you've never felt before, makes you want to _hurt_ someone, Derek, Isaac's father, anyone who's ever had a hand in making him feel this way.

"Derek... I should've known," Isaac continues, looking anguished and self-deprecating, letting out a horrible, painful sounding laugh. "I was such an idiot, I should've known better than to think he'd ever-"

You kiss him so you don't have to hear the end of that sentence and Isaac goes rigid under your mouth. His lips feel different than Scott's, rougher, but you don't have time to analyze if you like that or not.

You regret it the second you pull back and see the absolutely dumbstruck look on Isaac's face, like he never even considered this, not for one second. What were you thinking? How on earth was that supposed to be a good idea?

"I..." you say, looking away from him down at the dashboard, though you don't remove your hands from his face. "Just...just don't, okay? We'll figure it out."

Isaac hesitates for a moment and then nods, eyes dropping down to the floor. You remove your hands from his face and somewhere between restarting your car and pulling back onto the road, you figure out where you need to go.

You take him to a dingy motel on the edge of town where the balding guy at the front desk just gives you a creepy grin and doesn't bother asking you for I.D. when you ask for a room. The room is dark, cold, and stinks of tobacco and mold, but you're so exhausted you'd take anything with four walls and a bed. Isaac seems to be of the same opinion, because he collapses face-first onto the bed almost immediately, only pausing to dump his leather jacket on the floor.

You stare miserably down at him and decide, screw it, you're not going home tonight. You can't leave him here alone in this horrible room. So you kick off your shoes and lie down on the bed beside him, staring up at the mildew stained ceiling.

"Allison?" Isaac says in confusion, turning to look at you, but you don't want to do this right now. You can't.

"Go to sleep," you tell him, even though it's barely nine. You turn out the lights and then climb underneath the musty burgundy comforter, trying not to think of how it reminds you of blood.

Isaac doesn't say anything for so long you think he must be asleep, but as the long minutes pass and you just start to feel the exhaustion press at your eyelids, he scoots closer to you, touching your waist hesitantly.

You go rigid, not even daring to breathe. You're such an idiot, you realize, fear beginning to build up in your chest. What were you thinking, getting into bed with a boy? Your mother had warned you, warned you about letting boys get too close, about putting yourself in dangerous situations. How could you just have forgotten all that, and oh, God, Isaac is a werewolf, he could do anything he wanted to you and you'd have no chance of getting awa-

Isaac rips his hand away from you, putting a pause on your panicked thoughts. You feel him roll away to the other end of the bed, and when you dare to raise your head, you see that he's curled up with his back to you, shoulders very tense.

He'd just wanted comfort, you realize, and wonder what it says about you that you never even considered that.

"Isaac," you say hesitantly, feeling strangely like you should apologize, even though you'd done nothing wrong. How did he think you'd react, touching you like that? You were in bed, alone, in a motel, didn't he see what that looked like?

Isaac doesn't reply. He stiffens up further when you touch his shoulder carefully, and resists, at first, when you try and pull him over to you. But eventually he gives in and lets you arrange his arm over your waist, his face pressed into your sweatshirt, the line of his body snug against yours. It's weird; he's bigger than you thought he'd be, and less skinny, though you think that might be because of the bite. You touch his hair in an attempt to be soothing and slowly he relaxes into you as you card through his curls. He's very hot, even through his clothes, and it takes less time than it should for you to fall asleep, wrapped around him like a second skin.

It's early when you open your eyes, the pale dawn light barely creeping through the dark curtains. Isaac's face is buried in your neck, his arm still slung over your waist. He's practically on top of you, which is very uncomfortable and you wonder how you were able to sleep at all last night. You don't usually sleep on your back. You carefully squirm out from under him, wrinkling your nose in disgust when you realize it's his morning wood poking into your hip. Isaac makes a weak protesting noise when you extract yourself from the bed, but doesn't wake up. You pad softly over to the bathroom and rinse out your mouth. You brace yourself when you get your phone out of your purse to check your messages, but are surprised to find that you don't have any. You were out all night and your parents didn't even notice? It's just after five now. They must have been out all night too...or what? Simply not noticed that you never came home?

Either way you don't have much time to get back home before they do notice.

"Isaac," you say, pulling on your shoes and then going over to the bed to shake him when he doesn't respond. "Isaac, I have to go now."

Isaac groans and rolls over, scrunching up his face in confusion. "Allison...?"

"I have to go before my parents realize I was gone all night," you tell him, but even as you say it you have the fierce desire to climb back into bed with him and wrap your arms around him.

Isaac's face falls, but he nods seriously and sits up without a word, running a hand through his bed head. "Yeah, okay."

"Do you have any money?" you ask worriedly, wishing you could think of an excuse you could tell your parents that would let you stay. You don't want to leave him here alone. "Clothes?"

"My clothes are in my locker at school," Isaac says with a shrug and then cringes when you pull out a twenty from your wallet. "Allison, don't-"

"Shut up," you say, leaving it on the table. It's not your money anyway. "Meet me at the bus stop after school, okay?"

Isaac nods, but he can't quite hide the naked look of fear in his eyes that's been present since he first confronted Derek last night. You wish you could say something soothing, something that would reassure him that everything is going to be okay, but all you can think of is that he is yours now, that you'll protect him and you'll kill anyone who tries to hurt him. And, well, that's a little creepy. You wouldn't like it if someone said that to you.

So you just say: "See you this afternoon," and leave before you change your mind.

Your parents and Gerard's cars are gone when you pull into the driveway, so you don't have to sneak in. You probably don't want to know what they were doing all last night. But instead you sit in your car and take deep, calming breaths and try not to panic.

It's going to be alright, you tell yourself. Isaac's going to be alright. You'll take care of him, you have to. No one else is going to do it, so it's going to have to be you. And honestly, that's how you prefer it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, this chapter is a little less depressing! Maybe...? Please comment!


	4. Why have you come, lift me higher, let me look at the sun

You have almost $3,000 saved up from your allowance. Your parents give you $100 a month, for clothes and gas and doing stuff with friends, but you hardly spend any of it. You'd been saving it for college or in case your parents decide to disown you, and you're glad for your self-control now. Even the shittiest motel in Beacon Hills costs $35 a night and Isaac has to eat and take the bus too. Still, you'll be lucky if you can stretch it out over two months. Isaac either seems to realize this as well or, more likely, is uncomfortable with you supporting him, because the first thing he does when you meet after school is ask if you know of any places that are hiring. You drive him around to a couple places to pick up job applications, but you can't help but think this isn't a good idea. What if your family tries to go after him at work? Or Derek? Or his father? You probably shouldn't even be seen with him now. If your family realizes that you're friends, they might stop focusing on capturing Derek and instead try to kill Isaac instead. And they could do it, ridiculously easily, too. Isaac is completely alone now. Erica and Boyd didn't even glance at him once today at school and you have no doubt that Derek ordered them to stay away from him. He is completely vulnerable now, and if your parents or Gerard decide to go after him, there's not going to be much you can do to stop them.

“It sounds like they really need someone,” Isaac says after he walks out of the Foods Co, exhaustion all over his face. “During the day, though.”

“You're not dropping out of school,” you says automatically, horrified that he would even consider it.

“I know,” Isaac says with a shrug, walking ahead of you back to your car, but he doesn't sound too sure of himself.

“You'll find something else,” you say quickly, walking quickly to catch up with him and look him in the eye. “There are always tons of 'Help Wanted' signs around here.”

“They wanted to know if I had any work experience,” Isaac mutters, slumping against the passenger seat once you unlock your car. “Because grave-digging is such a versatile skill and my dad would be a great reference.”

“You're sixteen, they're not going to expect you to have any experience,” you say, even though that's clearly not the case.

Isaac doesn't respond, and before you can think of anything helpful to say, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

It's your dad, wondering where you are, and you scowl down at his text, trying to think of an excuse.

“Your parents?” Isaac asks, looking over at your phone.

“Yeah,” you say irritably.

“Tell them you have a group project at the library,” Isaac says. “I used to use that one all the time.”

You grunt in affirmation and start typing it out on your phone, trying not to think about Isaac hiding out at the library to spend as much time as possible away from his father.

“Your parents....when did you find out they were hunters?” Isaac asks on your way to the same strip mall you went to after Gerard threatened to kill you.

“Year and a half ago,” you reply, keeping your eyes firmly on the road. “I saw them slit a werewolf's throat in my backyard. She was in my class.”

“Oh,” Isaac says, and you don't speak again until you get to your destination.

He picks up a couple more job applications, but then your parents start bothering you about coming home for dinner, so you reluctantly drop him off at the same motel.

“I'll be fine,” Isaac says, waving off your concerned look as you glance back at him from the door, but he's lying. He's always been a horrible liar.

You tighten your hand on the doorknob to prevent yourself from going to him and...what- hugging him? Kissing him?-and just nod. You don't have that kind of relationship, after all, and to be honest you're not really sure you want to.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” you say, and try not to let the pit of despair in your stomach drag you down as you close the door behind you and walk to your car.

A week later he still doesn't have a job and you're starting to get desperate. You're even considering taking the antidepressants your therapist gave you instead of flushing them everyday because every morning you wake up and stare at the ceiling, the crushing sensation in your chest only getting worse.

Budgeting and rebudgeting only makes your anxiety worse. Isaac doesn't say anything, but you know he's terrified as well. He quit the lacrosse team and you're pretty sure he's only eating one meal a day to save money, even though it's his room and board that costing the most.

Still, you're completely unprepared when Isaac tells you not to take him back to the motel at the end of another afternoon of fruitless job searching.

“What?” you say, giving him a quick look before turning back to the road ahead of you. “Where else is there?”

“You know those warehouses on the north side of town?” Isaac says.

“What?” you say and pull over onto the shoulder to stare at him, much to the annoyance of the driver behind you. “ _No_.”

“It's fine!” he insists, before you can protest, his jaw set in a surprisingly determined way. “It's not like I wasn't sleeping on the floor at Derek's anyway.”

“He made you _sleep on the floor_?” you say furiously, even though that's hardly the worst thing Derek has done. You know he has money; you've seen that car he drives.

“Allison, it's fine,” he says quietly, looking at you seriously, before looking away out the window and scrubbing a hand through his hair. “It'll be fine.”

But it's not fine. Isaac breaks the lock on the door of an abandoned warehouse easily, but the inside is cold and dank and there are shards of glass and abandoned packaging everywhere.

“You are not staying here,” you say in your most commanding voice.

“It's not that much worse than the train depot,” Isaac says with a shrug, kicking a bit of broken glass around on the ground and looking over at the large windows, the gym bag he's been living out of the last week slung over his shoulder. “Least there's some light.”

“There's no _electricity_ ,” you say angrily, because he can't be serious about this, and you hate everything. It's already kind of chilly, too, and you can't imagine how cold it will get at night.

“It's fine to just sleep in,” Isaac says, trying to sound firm, but the fact that he won't look at you speaks volumes. “I can shower in the locker room at school.”

“ _Isaac_ -”

“Allison, you can't take care of me,” he says shakily, still not looking at you.

“Why not?” you demand, hands forming into fists at your sides, because you can, you _will_ , maybe you can convince your parents getting a job will be better for your mental health or...or something else to help out.

Isaac finally looks at you at that, his eyes wide and puzzled, as if he doesn't understand why you even care. His arm gives a small jerk and for a second you think he's going to close the gap between you and grab you. He's been watching you when he thinks you aren't paying attention all week, ever since you kissed him in your car. You know he likes you. Or you think he does, but he seems to realize it's just not a good time. Or maybe he's afraid to make the first move because of that first night.

“I'll be fine,” he says quietly, turning away from you again.

Nothing's going to change his mind, you realize. And as much as you hate it, it's undeniable that it's the most economical idea.

“Let me buy you a sleeping bag,” you say, trying to prevent your voice from trembling, looking down at the warehouse floor in shame. This shouldn't be so hard for you. After all, Isaac is homeless, and will now have to spend all of his energy on scraping by and avoiding being killed by your crazy family/Derek/his father. You just have to watch.

“Okay,” Isaac says, voice barely above a whisper, and follows you back to your car.

Isaac finds a job at the local sporting goods store a week before the full moon because the owner likes that he has experience with lacrosse equipment. He's technically a “Sales Associate” but when you ask what he does, he just rolls his eyes and grumbles: “Everything.”

Still, he works three afternoons during the week and all day Saturday and Sunday. Even at minimum wage that's more than enough to eat (though not to find somewhere better to live than an abandoned warehouse.)

You insist on celebrating by getting another motel room for the night and stay up late watching horrible TV and eating Mexican takeout on the bed. You end up falling asleep by accident and wake up to your phone buzzing annoyingly at 11:30, and Isaac spooning you, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist and nose buried in your hair. He doesn't wake up when you squirm out of his grasp to answer your phone, but he does somewhere in the middle of you fending off your father's furious demands of where you are, what you are doing, and why you aren't home.

“Shit, what time is it?” Isaac groans when you finally hang up after promising to come home right away.

“11:30,” you say and resist the urge to bury your head in your lap and groan. You have no idea what you're going to tell your parents when you get home. This is the problem with having no hobbies and no friends. You don't have a default excuse to use when you're hanging out with your secret homeless werewolf friend. “I better go.”

You don't know why, but you expect him to wrap his large hands around your waist and pull you back into bed with him. He doesn't, of course. You're pretty sure he curled up against you in his sleep subconsciously. Not on purpose. At least you hope it wasn't.

He rolls away from you when you turn around to look at him, grabbing your takeout containers off the bed and throwing them in the trash can on the other side of the bed.

“I'd better go,” you say, standing, suddenly feeling awkward. “See you tomorrow, okay?”

“Night,” Isaac says, smiling faintly at you, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

You just nod and pull on your boots, grabbing your bag and heading outside without another word to him.

“What's wrong with you?” you mutter to yourself on the way home, annoyed at the way your hands shake. You don't know why your chest is tight with anxiety, your gut cold. It's not because of your parents, even though it probably should be. It's Isaac. He made you nervous and you're not exactly sure why.

Nothing's going to happen, you remind yourself. There's too much other stuff going on to even think of it. Derek, Gerard, your parents, the upcoming full moon. You should never have kissed him. It's just not a good idea right now. Maybe ever. You always thought you weren't mature enough for a relationship, even Before. Your plan was always to wait until college. And besides, Isaac is hardly your idea of an ideal boyfriend. He's too shy, too sarcastic, too damaged, too dependent on you. You shouldn't like those things.

But you do.

Your parents are relentless in their questions of where you were, so finally you throw some typical teenage girl tantrum about how you just wanted to be alone for once in your life, and stomp off to your room, though you wince when your mother orders you to come back in that no-nonsense tone that always scared you as a child.

Unfortunately, they follow you upstairs and refuse to leave you alone until you lie and say you were just driving around the town aimlessly. This results in an hour lecture by both of them about _safety_ and responsibility that you tune out until they let you go to bed. You don't think Gerard is at home. That thought helps you sleep.

 

* * *

 

You can't sit with Isaac at school, because of Gerard. It's frustrating, and lonely, but you can't do anything to make him suspect you. You remember his threat against you and your parents' lives, and you don't think it was an idle one. What you really need is a plan to get rid of him, but you can't think of one that seems like an accident. You're not naïve enough to believe that you can get away with murder if they open an investigation. Maybe Derek will kill him, you think bitterly, as you walk under one of the video cameras in the empty hallway during your passing period to the bathroom. You're annoyed to hear someone talking on the phone in the handicapped stall, but at least there's not a bunch of girls putting on foundation in front of the sinks for half an hour.

It's only when you're halfway through peeing that you realize that the person on the phone is Lydia Martin, and she isn't so much talking on the phone as having a one-way conversation with herself.

“-no, can't do it that way, someone will see the body,” she mutters in a low, unfamiliar tone. “Has to be at night, but not too late. Need the moonlight. Look up when moonrise is.”

You freeze, hand outstretched for the toilet paper. What the hell is she talking about? Is she a werewolf, after all? But Scott said...wouldn't he be able to tell?

“What are you waiting for?” Lydia snaps, and you hear her stand and push open the stall door, walking to stand in front of the sink. “Don't just sit there!”

She's talking to you, you realize with a sinking sensation in your chest. You grab a handful of toilet paper and flush quickly, buttoning up your skirt with shaking hands.

When you open the door, Lydia is leaning against the bathroom sink, her arms crossed over her magenta skin-tight dress, a familiar smirk and unfamiliar gleam in her eyes. Her expression shifts a bit in surprise when she realizes who you are, and then she stalks towards you. There's something about the way she moves that makes you stiffen up, something about her gait that reminds you of sauntering, which you've never seen her do before.

“Stay out of my way,” she says, stopping only inches from your face. Her face twists in a cruel smirk and she tilts her head to the side, another strange movement.

You don't say anything, just stare at her in confusion, and then she turns on her heel and exits the bathroom, her shoulders moving back and forth exaggeratedly as she walks. Like...like she's a different person completely. What the hell?

You keep an eye on her the rest of the day, but she mostly keeps her head down, uncharacteristically shy and reticent to speak, in class or to any of her classmates (former friends.) She completely blanks out during English when the teacher calls on her and gets so flustered that the teacher gets a very concerned look on her face and asks her to stay after class. You wait outside the door for a couple minutes, trying and failing to eavesdrop.

“What's wrong with you?” you ask her baldly when she exits the room, clutching a note in her hand.

“What?” Lydia says, looking very taken aback.

“You're acting weird,” you tell her, pushing off the wall to stand up straight in front of her. It occurs to you that she's wearing four inch heels, yet she's still shorter than you. How tall is she? 5'2''?

“Excuse me, do I _know_ you?” Lydia retorts, looking both offended and confused. “Why don't you mind your own business?”

She gives you an incredulous look as she brushes past you, and you make no move to follow her, watching her wind around the other students in the hallway in confusion.

What's going on? Why had she given you such a strange look? It was almost like...like she didn't remember your confrontation this morning.

Which means...what?

 

* * *

 

“I think Lydia's possessed,” you tell Isaac a couple hours later when you're both hanging out in a secluded corner of the public library. You've dragged two bean bags from the young adult section over to the corner of the non-fiction section where barely anyone goes, and it's, well, nice. A little sanctuary from the rest of the world. “Is possession a thing?”

“I don't know,” Isaac says, giving you a strange look. “Why do you think she's possessed?”

“She's been acting really weird lately. I talked to her this morning and then later this afternoon and she acted like we hadn't spoken in weeks.”

“So she forgot,” Isaac says, with a derisive sneer. “You think Lydia Martin can keep track of all of us mere mortals?”

You frown at him, wondering why that level of contempt was necessary. Had Lydia done something to him?

“I think I'm going to follow her tomorrow after school,” you say decisively. “See where she goes.”

“Really?” Isaac says incredulously, squinting at you. “Just because you think she's acting weird?”

“She did get bitten by Peter,” you remind him.

“Who's Peter?”

You stare at him. Isaac looks genuinely confused.

“Derek's uncle. He was the one behind all those animal attacks last month. He was killing everyone behind the Hale Fire and then Derek killed him. That's how he became an alpha,” you explain.

“Oh,” Isaac says,the look on his face clearly stating that this is news to him. “And he bit Lydia?”

“Yeah, but she didn't turn or die. No one knows why.”

Isaac pauses to mull this over and you resist the urge to once again insult Derek Hale's leadership skills. Isaac doesn't really like when you do that, because he's conditioned to agree with whatever abusive older men tell him, you think, not a little unkindly.

“Isaac, what are you going to do Friday?” you ask quietly.

Isaac stiffens up and then slumps against the wall, not looking at you.

“I'll be fine,” he mutters. “It's not the first time, anyway.”

“What are you going to do?” you press, sitting up and leaning closer to him to see his face.

“Woods, I guess.”

“What?” you say, horrified. “Isaac, my family's going to be looking for you! They always go out all night on full moons. We have to find somewhere safe to lock you up for the ni-”

“No!” Isaac says, surprisingly harshly, and you jump a little at his tone. “I'm not locking myself up anywhere.”

“What?” you say, confused at his vehemence. “Isaac?”

Isaac says nothing, just seals his lips shut, hands curling into the bean bag at his sides, shoulders stiff. He still won't look at you, and his reaction makes anxiety rise up in your chest. You scoot over to get a better look at him, heart hammering in your chest.

“Isaac?” you say quietly, reaching out to touch his knee carefully.

He looks up at you for a split-second and then looks away. “Not a fan of small spaces,” he says, trying to sound casual, but the stiffness of his shoulders give him away.

“Okay,” you say quickly, fingers tightening on his knee. You try not to think why, but you can't help it, did Derek-did his father- “Okay, what do you want to do then? You can't...you can't stay in Beacon Hills.”

Isaac gives you a horrified look at that, his face going pale.

“I mean, for the full moon,” you clarify, not moving your hand from his knee. “We have to...we have to go somewhere else.”

“Okay,” he says quietly, nodding jerkily and then leans his head back against the wall. You remove your hand from his knee awkwardly. You return to your beanbag and watch him uncertainly, but he doesn't say anything else and after a bit you return to your History textbook.

When you look up again, he's asleep, and your chest aches a little at the vulnerable look on his face. His neck is at an awkward angle against the wall and he must be exhausted if he's able to fall asleep like that. Maybe the warehouse floor is even more uncomfortable.

You try to focus on your reading, but the way his head keeps almost falling onto his shoulder only to jerk back upwards against the wall keeps distracting you. It's annoying and after fifteen minutes you put your book down and push your beanbag across the floor so that you're side by side and pull his body over to you. Isaac lets out a sleepy grunt, but he doesn't wake as you lie his head in your lap, his nose pressing against your right thigh, shoulders curled into himself. He shifts a bit after you let go, but seems to find a comfortable position and then breathes quietly.

You try to return to your book, but find yourself unable to reach it without disturbing him, so you just lean against the wall and try to reason away the warm possessive glow at the feel of him in your lap, the _mine mine mine_ mantra in your head that makes you want to bury your hands in his curls. You compromise by slinging an arm around his back and tilt your head back against the wall to avoid staring at him like a complete creep.

He wakes around six, which is kind of a relief because your legs were beginning to fall asleep, and pushes himself up off your legs about half an inch, groaning quietly. Then his body goes stiff and he glances up at you in horror, cheeks flushing.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he says quickly and tries to get off you.

Your legs ache, but you don't like the panicked look in his eyes and grip his shoulder to prevent him from moving.

“It's fine,” you say, annoyed at his reticence and the fact that he seems to think he accidentally fell asleep on your lap, and push him back down. Isaac goes easily, but he looks very confused, body rigid, like he's afraid that one wrong move will...you don't know. Something bad. “Just hand me my book,” you say, pointing at the book to the right to you by your feet that you can't reach, but he can if he reaches above his head.

Isaac picks it up, careful not to lose your place, and hands it to you. You put it down on the floor next to you and read it like that, still holding onto Isaac's shoulder.

Isaac says nothing, and after a minute he relaxes just a smidgen, but you can feel his eyes boring into you, though when you glance down at him he's staring down at your jean-clad thigh instead.

You stay like that for at least half an hour, until your parents that texting you about dinner and Isaac slides off you so you can get to your phone. It's only six-thirty, but you figure you need to come home as much as possible to avoid suspicion and reluctantly leave the library to drop Isaac off at the abandoned warehouse.

Isaac is worryingly quiet all the way there, heedless of your attempts to start a conversation.

“You sure you don't want me to drop you off at a restaurant?” you ask, leaning up against your car door outside the warehouse as he unwinds the broken chains on the door that make it look like it's still locked. He hasn't eaten and it's not even seven yet. What is he going to do for the rest of the night?

“I have a box of granola bars,” Isaac says with a uncaring shrug and you try not to scowl at his choice of dinner. “You better get back to your parents.”

“Okay,” you say, unable to think of anything better to say and turn around to open your door.

“Allison!” he says suddenly and you turn around in surprise at the urgency in his tone.

He doesn't say anything right away and you can't really see his face all that well in the dark warehousing district, the best light coming from the waxing moon. You think he looks confused.

“What?” you say finally, when several seconds of silence go by.

“Do you...do you even like me?” he says, an edge of something frustrated in his voice. “Because if you don't, you should just say so. I just...you should just tell me.”

What the hell? Where did that come from? And more importantly, why on earth does he think you don't like him? I let you sleep all over me, you think in annoyed confusion. Why would I let you do that if I didn't like you?

You can't say that, though.

“I do like you,” you say instead, and wince a bit inwardly at how flat it comes out.

“Oh,” Isaac says uncertainly, shifting uncomfortably.

He doesn't say anything else.

“Is that it?” you ask, still a little confused why he needed clarification.

“Can I-!?” Isaac starts, taking a step towards you, and then stops in his tracks.

Can he what? “What?”

“Nothing,” Isaac responds after a brief pause, turning back towards the door. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” you reply, more than a little bewildered, and watch him go inside and shut the heavy steel doors behind him as quietly as possible.

You're already halfway home, waiting at a stoplight behind a group of loud teenagers blasting annoying pop music by the time you realize what he'd meant when he said “Can I?”

Can I kiss you?

You feel your face go very hot and you grip the steering wheel hard, staring blankly at the car in front of you. You're such an idiot. What did you think he meant? Fortunately, he'd stopped himself from saying anything irreparable. You can't-there's just too much going right now. It's not a good idea. Doing it at all is questionable-you can't help but notice that neither of you are particularly emotionally-healthy people-but doing it now would be not only really stupid, but also extremely irresponsible. It's good that Isaac realized that before he ruined things.

...Yeah, right.

“Shit,” you snarl furiously, and when the light turns green you make an illegal u-turn and head right back to the warehousing district, anger burning in your chest.

It isn't fair, you think as you park haphazardly in front of the warehouse and leap out of your car, barely remembering to lock it. It's not _fair_. You were just supposed to be friends, less than that really, just two people who hung out at school because they were too screwed up to connect with anyone else. Why did he have to ruin it? You have always preferred to be friends with girls, because half of your male friends didn't even really want to be your friend, they _liked_ you. You should probably stop being surprised at their betrayal, but you thought...you thought it could be different with Isaac.

“Allison, what-” Isaac says when you burst through the warehouse doors and stalk towards him across the filthy concrete floor. He sits up on the sleeping bag you bought him, a granola bar in one hand and a flashlight in the other, his Chemistry textbook lying adjacent to him on the floor. “What's wrong?”

“Shut up,” you tell him flatly, sink to your knees between his spread legs and kiss him.

Isaac doesn't move for a second, obviously shocked into stillness, but then he loops his arm around your waist and drags you closer, mouth moving against yours clumsily. You cup his face awkwardly, more for balance than anything as you fall against his chest and groan at how hot his skin is. You wrap your arms around his neck to get closer, and push your hands through his hair, the familiar mantra of _mine mine mine_ reverberating through your head. Your knees kind of start to ache from kneeling on the hard floor, even with his sleeping bag acting as a cushion, but you ignore them and revel instead at the feel of his hands under your jacket, your boobs against his chest, and his mouth on yours. It's not your first kiss-neither was you kissing him in your car a week and a half ago or Scott in the school hallway-but it's your first _real_ one. Brushing your lips shyly against Jeremy Collins's in sixth grade behind an arcade game at Mitchell Ryan's birthday party didn't really count either.

It goes on for a long time, and when your knees scream in protest loud enough that they're impossible to ignore, Isaac goes easily when you press him down onto his back and climb on top of him, his cat-that-swallowed-the-canary smirk illuminated by the fallen flashlight. It's annoying, and there's only one way you can think of to get rid of it, so you roll your eyes and lean down to bracket his head with your forearms and take what you want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lololol, Allison is so weird in this fic and I love it. Please comment!


	5. Look at the sun and once I hear them clearly, say

You watch Lydia like a hawk all the next day at school, but you don't see any obvious signs of possession, not that you'd know what an obvious sign of possession looks like in the first place. It doesn't look like she has any friends left and sits by herself in the cafeteria like you. Strangely enough though, she raises her hand in class a lot more and you can tell your teachers are surprised by the speed and comprehensiveness of her answers to their questions. You never got the impression that Lydia Martin was much more than a shallow airhead, but clearly you were wrong, because as far as you can tell she pretty much knows everything.

It's only when you follow her home after school that things get weird. For one, Lydia doesn't go home. Instead she takes the bus to Home Depot and buys a bunch of tools, including a circular saw and a crowbar. Then she wanders deep into the woods to this huge burnt down house (the Hale House?) and when you sneak around to peek through a broken window you see her sawing open the floor, muttering to herself with a focused expression that you've never seen on her before. You can't hear what she's saying and you don't want to risk getting any closer, but this is proof enough. If the creepy expression and talking to herself wasn't enough, not to mention the digging up the floorboards of a house whose werewolf occupants were murdered by your aunt (who later died here herself), she's not even wearing _safety goggles_. She is definitely possessed. You take out your phone for proof and then you escape back to your car before she notices, because you have a feeling confronting her now, unarmed, would not end well for you.

"I think I have to tell her what's going on," you tell Isaac later that night, curled up in his sleeping bag in the abandoned warehouse. "Maybe it'll snap her out of it."

"That does not sound like a good idea," Isaac says, looking at you worriedly. You're so close together that you can see every discoloration in his blue eyes, each one of his long dark blonde eyelashes. He has an arm around your waist and he's so warm against you. You can't imagine why you resisted this.

"Don't worry, I'll do it in public," you tell him, kissing the corner of his mouth with swollen lips. You'd made out for a long time before this, but still every inch of you tingles for want of him. You're pretty sure he's hard and you too ache between your legs for some relief, in a way you haven't for a long time. It's probably a good thing it's so cold in here otherwise you'd probably want to shed some layers and well...that wouldn't end well.

"I'd better go," you say reluctantly, sitting up, because the longer you stay here the more likely it is that your parents will notice you snuck out after dinner.

"Nope," Isaac says quickly and drags you back down again.

You groan against his mouth, but kiss him back with enthusiasm. You're probably pretty bad at it, but Isaac doesn't seem to know what he's doing either, so it's all okay. He rolls you over so he's on top after a minute and you let out a truly embarrassing moan when his hard-on grinds against your inner thigh. You wrap your legs around his hips without thinking and gasp at how good him rubbing against you feels. Your abdomen feels hot and shaky and you ache, God, you just want him to _touch_ you-

"Isaac," you groan, gripping his waist weakly. "C'mon, I've got to go."

"No," he growls, moving away from your mouth to nuzzle at your ear. "Stay."

His hands slide up the back of your shirt and you shudder, wanting nothing more than for him to pull off your shirt and touch your boobs. Isaac smirks against your neck and that brings you back to reality, pushing his chest away from you to hold him off.

"Isaac," you say warningly, and Isaac groans in disappointment and rolls off of you, burying his face in your neck.

You sit up with difficulty, enjoying the cool air as the sleeping bag falls off your upper body and try to get your hair into some semblance of order.

Isaac is looking up at you innocently when you glare down at him in annoyance and you roll your eyes at him as you pull your legs out of the sleeping bag and put on your boots.

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" you tell him, standing up and slinging your bag over your shoulder.

"Okay," Isaac says, shifting over onto his back and tucking his arms under his head, looking incredibly smug and well, that can't be allowed to stand. You drop to your knees again and lean over him, your hand snaking down his chest underneath the sleeping bag to grab his erection over his jeans. Isaac freezes and his eyes go wide with shock, all traces of smugness gone.

"Think of me when you take care of this," you tell him, ghosting your lips over his, and then you release him just as quickly and walk away, leaving him gaping after you.

You get home without incident, manage to sneak upstairs without your parents noticing, and masturbate for the first time in a year to the thought of Isaac naked and on top of you, his low voice growling your name in your ear while he fucks you.

 

* * *

 

"I need to talk to you," you tell Lydia, sitting next to her on the bench next to the bike rack as she waits for her ride at the end of the school day the next day.

"About what?" she asks, turning around to look at you disdainfully.

"About this," you say and pull up the video you took of her yesterday afternoon through the Hale House window.

Lydia's face gets whiter and whiter as the 30 second clip progresses and by the time it's over she looks like she might fall over.

"What is this?" she says, leaping to her feet, voice shaking in anger, but also fear, looking up at you with suspicion all over her face. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"This is what you did yesterday afternoon. I take it you don't remember?"

"No, what are you talking about?" Lydia says, stumbling backwards a little on her ridiculous magenta heels.

You should probably feel bad for her, but to be honest you're already annoyed how she's taking this. It's pretty hypocritical of you, considering how you reacted and you only witnessed a supernatural creature, not gotten attacked by one...and possibly possessed by the very same one? Peter Hale is supposed to be dead, but it is possible that he could be possessing Lydia from beyond the grave? Wait, does that mean there's an afterlife too?

"Look, I'm really sorry, but I don't have time to sugarcoat this," you tell her baldly. "I think you're being possessed."

"Possessed?" Lydia repeats dumbly and takes a large step back away from you. "Okay, you know what, you need to stay away from me right now. I knew you were a freak, but I didn't know you-"

"By a dead werewolf," you continue, not at all optimistic about your chances of convincing her, but knowing that you have to try or risk leaving the spirit of Peter Hale (oh my, _God_ ) to its own evil devices. "The one who bit you at the Winter Formal. Peter Hale? Remember him?"

Lydia freezes in her tracks and looks even more terrified than she did when you showed her your video of her digging up the floorboards of a burnt down mansion and talking to herself like a crazy person that she has absolutely no memory of.

"What-What are you talking about?" she says shakily, reaching out to grab onto the back of the bench to steady herself. A couple of senior girls walking by give her a strange look, but most of the people around them seem too preoccupied with talking with their friends or leaving campus to notice the panicked look on Lydia's face.

"Werewolves exist," you say flatly. "One of them bit you last month. And now I suspect you're being possessed by him- oh, he's dead, by the way- to do God knows what. So if you know anything, you need to tell me right now, before it's too late."

Lydia just stands there, utterly terrified, but she doesn't try to escape. Instead her eyes flit away and she clutches the back of the bench harder.

"I don't...I don't know what you're talking about," she says quietly, voice nearly a whisper.

"You're _lying_ ," you say, anger beginning to stir in your belly, because she is, and badly. You stand up and stalk towards her, so that you're only a few inches apart, glad that you wore your heels today so that you tower over her.

Lydia's eyes widen in fear and she stumbles backwards a little. "No, I'm not, I sw-"

"Tell me the truth," you command and then realize being so harsh is probably not helping. "I can help you," you continue, a bit more gently.

"I can't, no, he'll, he'll-" Lydia gasps, tears filling her green eyes and spilling down her cheeks.

"He'll do what?" you press, but Lydia is shaking too hard to answer. "Lydia, Lydia, it's alright," you try gently, reaching out to take her upper arms and guide her back down onto the bench. "Lydia, he's dead, he can't hurt you."

"He said I can't tell anyone," Lydia sobs and then takes a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. "He said he'd kill...he'd kill-"

"Lydia, he can't kill anyone," you say quietly, wishing you had a tissue in your bag you could give her. "He's just trying to manipulate you. Do you know what he wants?"

Lydia shakes her head, wiping her eyes delicately, though it still smears her mascara. "I don't know...he...he wants me to get a bunch of people to my birthday party on Friday, but I know no one's going to come this year..."

"Your birthday party?" you say, frowning in confusion, because why would Peter Hale care about some rich girl's sweet sixteen? "Why?"

"He said...something about the Worm Moon? I don't..." She turns to look at you with wide eyes. "The March full moon."

Shit. What could he be planning? What would a ghost want anyway? Revenge?

"Why was I pulling up the floorboards in that house?" Lydia asks you fearfully, clutching her blue skirt with shaking hands. "I don't...I don't remember that at all."

"I don't know," you reply. "But it looks like whatever he wants has to be on the March full moon. All we have to do is make sure whatever he's planning fails."

"How?" Lydia asks you beseechingly and you feel a twinge of pity for her, because her life is about to change in ways she can't imagine.

"I don't know," you say, standing up. "But I'll find out. Come with me."

Lydia stands too, but then she stops and shakes herself a little, trying to school her face back to her normal expression. "Wait, I can't, my mom is supposed to pick me up any minute."

"Tell her you have a last minute study group," you tell her shortly, because, really, this takes precedence. "Now come with me."

Lydia does.

"How do you know about all this?" Lydia asks you halfway to the library.

"My parents are werewolf hunters."

"Oh," Lydia says, swallowing, but she also looks a little relieved.

"That's not a good thing," you tell her, taking your eyes off the road for a second to impress upon her how serious you are. "They're murderers."

Lydia looks confused.

"Werewolves are just like people," you explain, turning back to the road. "Some are good, some are bad. My parents don't make the distinction."

"Oh," Lydia says, sounding more subdued. "Are...are there a lot of werewolves?"

"I don't think so. There are five in Beacon Hills that I know of, but as far as I can tell this town is unusual."

"And your parents are trying to..."

"Kill them? Yes."

Lydia doesn't speak for the rest of the car ride and seems to be concentrating on taking deep, steady breaths. You suppose you can't really blame her.

"You think the library will have books on werewolves?" Lydia asks skeptically when you park in the library parking lot.

"No, we're just meeting someone here," you say and wonder how exactly you're going to introduce Lydia to Isaac. You don't think Isaac would know anything about werewolf possession, but you don't know what else to do and three heads are better than two. You've searched for information about werewolves in your parents' things before, but never found anything but weapons. Maybe Gerard has something, but considering he might kill you if he catches you going through his stuff again, you're obviously reluctant to try that again.

"What is _she_ doing here?" Isaac says suspiciously when you find him in your usual corner of the non-fiction section.

"We have a problem," you say, dropping your backpack on the floor beside him. "Peter Hale is trying to go something evil from beyond the grave. Move over."

"What?" Isaac says in confusion, but does as you ask and you flop down beside him on the beanbag and gesture for Lydia to take the one that's usually yours.

Lydia doesn't move, though, just stares at Isaac suspiciously.

"You," she says slowly, recognition dawning on her face, "are a werewolf, aren't you?"

"What? No," Isaac says, clearly lying, a fact that is not helped by the betrayed look he turns to give you.

"Yes, you are," Lydia says accusingly. "And that means Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd are too!"

Boyd's first name is _Vernon_? you think idiotically. No wonder he goes by his last name.

"What did you tell her?" Isaac hisses.

"Nothing!" you shoot back, annoyed, but really you're not that surprised that she managed to come to that conclusion.

"You said there were five in Beacon Hills, so who else?" Lydia says contemplatively. "Oh, of course, Derek Hale. That one is pretty obvious. I don't know who the fifth one could be...unless..." She frowns. "It's not Scott McCall, is it?"

"No!" you say quickly, too quickly, at the same time Isaac says: "Yes."

How on earth could she have guessed that one? you think, even as you give Isaac an annoyed look. Clearly, Lydia's intelligence is not to be underestimated.

"Don't tell anyone," you tell her seriously, feeling a little queasy at how much she was able to guess Scott's identity.

"'Don't tell anyone?' Who would I tell?" Lydia says disdainfully, looking like herself for the first time since you showed her that video. She sits down on the other beanbag before you or Isaac can respond and takes a shaky breath, folding her hands politely in her lap. "Now. What are we going to do?"

It's not a very productive brainstorming session, other than Isaac bringing up the truly horrifying possibility that Peter Hale is trying to bring himself back to life. You're not sure that's possible, but you don't want to rule it out completely. Other than that, the three of you really have no idea what to do. None of you know anything about possession and you don't know anyone you can trust to ask for more information. Lydia brings up the possibility of talking to Derek Hale, but you quickly nix that idea and try not to notice how Isaac's shoulders stiffen and jaw clenches at Derek's name. Isaac is strangely hostile towards Lydia, who is more than happy to return the favor, and you spend half the time trying to keep the peace between them, a position you have never found yourself in before and which you have little patience with.

"Look, I'm sorry, we're just going to have to lock you up all Friday night," you tell Lydia as you walk her out of the library to where her mom is waiting to pick her up. "Can you tell your mother I'm coming to sleep over?"

"We can go to my grandmother's lake house," Lydia says calmly, her face an impassive mask. You're actually kind of impressed how by the lack of freaking out. You're not sure you'd be so calm in her situation.

"Okay," you say, for lack of anything better. You find yourself wanting to comfort her, but she seems to want to pretend that everything is fine, so you keep your mouth shut. "I'll see you tomorrow.

Lydia nods shortly and walks to her mother's car without another word.

"Was that really necessary?" you ask Isaac in annoyance when you rejoin him in the library.

"What?" Isaac says looking up from his Chemistry homework with a frown.

"Why were you such a jerk to her?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest because you really are unhappy with him. "I know she's kind of stuck-up, but she is being possessed, most likely by the man who murdered my aunt. Cut her some slack."

Isaac's face twists in dislike. "She's a bitch," he says with a scowl, slumping back onto the beanbag in irritation.

" _I'm_ a bitch," you say, because you are, and to be honest you like that about yourself. It's better than being a doormat.

"Well, yeah," Isaac says with a lazy smirk, instead of protesting that you are nothing of the sort, "but, you know, in a hot way."

You try very hard not to smile at that, but fail, and Isaac continues to smirk in victory.

"Shut up," you tell him and flop down into his lap, looping an arm around his neck. "Be nice."

"Or what?" Isaac says, enjoying being difficult like the asshole he is, but he wraps both arms around your waist and pulls you closer so that the line of your body is snug against his chest.

You shift to straddle him, bracketing his head with your arms. Isaac's eyes go wide, because despite the carefree asshole act he likes to put on, so far Isaac is always very surprised when you make a move like this.

"Or," you say lowly, sliding your hands down his chest in a way that has Isaac's pretty mouth falling halfway open in shock, "this."

And then you strike, tickling his sides just below his ribcage where you know he's sensitive.

Isaac squawks indignantly and tries to shove you off him, but you hold on with your legs until Isaac pitches you over onto the other beanbag and from there you obviously end up making out like the worst obnoxious teenagers that you used to scoff at in disgust. Things are getting to the point where you just really want his hands under your clothes, _now_ , when some old man between the stacks clears his throat and gives you an appalled look when you pull away. You scowl, but slide off Isaac's lap reluctantly and then snort with laughter when you see the veritable pout on Isaac's face.

You know you shouldn't be so optimistic. But it's hard not to when things finally seem to be looking up, and anyway, you hardly know Lydia Martin. And you know very little about Peter Hale. You know he killed Kate, but considering that she murdered most of his family, you find it hard to blame him all that much. So it's understandable that the slim possibility of his resurrection doesn't cause you much concern. You'll just lock Lydia up so she can't do anything on the full moon and hopefully that will be the end of that. If it's not, well...maybe then you'll have to talk to Derek. But you're not thinking about that possibility until it becomes absolutely necessary.

You have, as usual, no idea what you're getting into.

 

* * *

 

"Stop _looking_ at me like that, I'm fine!" Lydia says angrily, but the way her hands shake and the glassiness of her eyes clearly states that the opposite is true.

"I didn't say anything," you say, holding up your hands defensively.

"You didn't have to," Lydia continues shakily, equally in anger and in fear, yanking the chains that secure her to the wall furiously. It's five minutes to moon rise on Friday night and you're in her grandmother's lakehouse basement seated across from her on the floor as Lydia tries to remain calm. You'd dropped Isaac off at the bus terminal right after school and then gone straight here to prepare, and well, you might not know much about Peter Hale, but he was a murderer, and you don't want to be caught unawares if he decides to attack. "Where did you even get these? Couldn't you go to a sex shop and get ones with padding like everyone else!"

"No," you say, grimacing at the thought. Buying these at Home Depo was awkward enough. You glance down at your phone anxiously. Three minutes. And you're still waiting on a text message from Isaac when he reaches his destination a couple towns over. What if something happened? "Would it kill you to be a bit nicer? You do realize I'm going more than a little out of my way to help you."

Lydia glares at you. "I've apparently been possessed by a murderous werewolf, so _excuse me_ for being a little on edge!"

Okay, that's actually a fairly good point.

Apparently out of things to say, Lydia brings up her knees and hides her face in them, shoulders shaking violently as she takes deep calming breaths, fingers clutching at the manacles around her wrists. You wonder if you should point out you can see her underwear-her skirt is really short, okay?- but figure right now is probably not the right time. You try and think of some way to comfort her, but to be honest, you've said everything helpful you can think of already. All you can do now is wait.

Your phone buzzes and you can feel the tension leaving your body as you see it's from Isaac. He made it. Now all you have to do is hope there won't be any people in the woods tonight.

"Who was that from?" Lydia demands, raising her head and glaring at you with reddened eyes.

"Isaac." You draw your arms around yourself, wishing you'd brought your other jacket. This basement isn't finished and even if it was you're pretty sure the heating isn't on. Your fuzzy black sweater isn't going to cut it. Well, at least you didn't forget the Red Bull, because you feel you're going to need it.

"Is he your boyfriend or something?"

You put your phone down and give her a strange look. _That's_ what she wants to talk about?

"No. I don't know. Sort of."

You've never been on a date, or even talked about...what, "going steady?" You can't tell anyone about it anyway, so there's not really a point of labeling it.

"Well, I guess there's no accounting for taste," Lydia says, trying for nasty, but the tremor in her voice ruins it, as does the fact that she's obviously trying to distract herself from panicking.

"Is there any heating in here?" you asks, shuddering a bit and getting to your feet. You should probably turn it on now before it's too late.

"The dial is upstairs next to the credenza in the dining ro-" Lydia starts and then the timer on your phone goes off. Moonrise.

Lydia's eyes go blank.

You freeze in your tracks and watch, heart pounding in your chest, as Lydia's expression slowly changes from terrified but trying to hide it to mildly confused.

"Huh," she says, looking down at her hands in confusion. "I don't feel any different. Do you think it's just delayed?"

"Nice try," you hiss. "But that's the worst impression of Lydia I've seen in my life."

Lydia's expression changes from confusion to irritation.

"Well, it was worth a try, wasn't it?" Peter Hale says, leaning back against the wall and kicking out Lydia's legs in relaxation. "So you're Kate's niece. Allison Argent," he says, enunciating your name like he's trying out the sound of it in Lydia's mouth. "It's _great_ to finally meet you."

You sit down again in front of him and do your best to look disdainful and not incredibly creeped out. "We've already met. In the girl's bathroom? You're really _bad_ at pretending to be Lydia, aren't you? You do realize that was what put me on to you?"

Peter looks mutinous for a second and then he smirks. "You're a lot like Kate, aren't you? Not as damaged maybe, but my are we getting there."

You feel slightly sick at the comparison and hesitate longer than you should before answering. "Kate was a mass-murderer."

"Well, give it time," Peter says delightedly. "You're young, you know."

"And getting older by the second," you say, rolling your eyes, even though it's taking everything you have not to shake. You didn't realize it would be like this. Stupidly. He's a serial killer, what did you expect? "Now here's what's going to happen. I have you chained up so you're not going anywhere, so just, you know, be gone. Walk towards the bright light."

"I don't think so," Peter says lightly, not looking at all chagrined at his predicament. "You're going to let me out."

"No way in hell."

"Would you prefer I stay in her body forever?" Peter asks, sounding disgustingly reasonable, a small patronizing smile on Lydia's lips. "Because that's the alternative. If you let me out, I'll leave her alone."

"And resurrect yourself?" you say slowly, feeling cold with horror, because that's the last thing you need with everything going on. You can't believe Isaac was right. He wants to bring himself back from the dead. "I think I prefer you locked up in her body forever."

Peter stiffens and leans forward so quickly that you nearly jump, forgetting that he's chained up. "You _will_ let me out," he hisses, Lydia's face twisted in a fury that's...well, actually sort of familiar. "Or I will shatter this poor girl into tiny pieces and leave her nothing but another raving lunatic at Eichen House."

"And yet, I somehow find that preferable to you going on another murdering spree," you say disdainfully, wishing you were a better actor. Like Isaac. He's good at pretending he doesn't give a shit about things. "You realize I don't actually care about her, don't you? We're not friends, in fact, she's kind of annoying, so good luck with dealing with that for eternity."

Peter looks shocked and you take the opportunity to take your can of Red Bull out of your bag (next to your gun) and open it, taking a casual sip before looking back at him matter-of-factly.

"So you could do that, or you could disappear after the Worm Moon is over. Guess which one I suspect is more likely?"

Peter lunges for you and you scramble backwards, spilling your drink all over yourself in the process. The chains hold him, but you're still terrified as you watch Lydia's hands claw at you, her face twisted with killing rage.

"You let me out right now or I'll slit your throat just like Kate's!" he shouts, struggling futily against the chains. "If you think for one second I won't get out and rend you limb from limb you-"

"Shut up!" you snarl and pull the gun out of your bag, aiming it directly at Lydia's forehead.

Peter freezes and Lydia's green eyes go wide with shock and, you're pleased to note, fear.

"I could do it, you know," you say, crouching down in front of him, Red Bull dripping off your sweater and onto Lydia's basement floor. "Unregistered gun, no motive, a great deal of experience in getting rid of bodies...It would certainly solve a lot of problems, wouldn't it?"

"You're lying," Peter says, but he doesn't sound so sure, looks terrified even, and so he doesn't notice the gag in your other hand until it's too late.

Peter still manages to make an annoying amount of noise with the gag on and rattles around a lot (Lydia's definitely going to have some awkward bruises in the morning) but at least he can't talk anymore. You kind of get the impression that letting him talk is a bad idea.

You sit and watch him for a while, weirdly okay with watching him struggle and curse behind the gag. It should probably make you more uncomfortable, watching his existential terror, but mostly all you feel is satisfaction. He murdered Kate, and yeah, she deserved it, but she was still your aunt. Your friend, sort of.

After a while your sweater begins to feel sticky and even more uncomfortable, so you go upstairs and wash off in the bathroom in front of the mirror and yeah, in just the right light, you do kind of look like Kate.

You try not to think of Peter's words, about slitting her throat. You realize your parents never told you exactly how she died, just that she was murdered. And it was a closed-casket funeral.

Peter bangs against the wall downstairs and you shudder, trying to take deep breaths, as if that will banish the cold ache throughout your entire body. You know you should go back down there, just in case he does find some way to escape, but you don't want to. You don't want to go down there, see the fear and hate in the eyes of a teenage girl he's been tormenting for weeks as he goes to what you hope is his doom and feel nothing but vindication. A good person would be horrified and it makes you sick that you're not, of how little you care.

At twenty-three, Kate burned down the Hale House, killing eight out of nine people inside, including several children. You are seventeen and in the last month and a half you've threatened to murder three people, stolen your deceased mass-murdering aunt's weapons collection, wished your grandfather dead, and chained a classmate in her basement.

_Give it time_ , Peter's words ring in your head. _You're young, you know._

You barely make it to the toilet bowl before you empty your stomach into it, your vomit stained red like blood.

 

* * *

 

Embarrassingly enough, you actually fall asleep on the floor of Lydia's basement. After a while Peter stopped struggling and just glared at you, like that was going to make you let him go, and your Red Bull is either all over the floor or down the drain. You wake up to the sound of whining and sit up with a jolt to see Lydia's eyes glaring at you, making an angry cat noise from behind the gag.

You scoot forward and take off the gag warily, watching for signs of Peter.

"You gagged me?" she says hoarsely, trying to wipe her mouth and failing because of the manacles. "Are you _kidding_ me? And you fell asleep! I thought you were supposed to be watching me!"

Well, it's definitely Lydia, you think wryly, grimacing at the saliva-soaked gag in disgust. Only she could sound this indignant after being possessed by a dead werewolf for the night.

"So?" you ask, rotating your stiff shoulders carefully and rubbing your cheek where it was pressed against the basement floor. "Is he gone?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Lydia snaps, looking predictably pissed. God, she's so high-maintenance, even before she got bitten. No wonder Jackson dumped her.

You don't say that aloud of course, because the horrible things you think about people belong in your head where they can't get you in trouble, and instead watch Lydia try to fix her hair, slow realization dawning on her face.

"I think-" she says, looking at you with wide eyes. "I think he's...I can't feel him!" She lets out a pathetic sob. "I think he's gone!"

You slump onto your knees in relief while Lydia continues to sob and kind of want to curl right back up into a ball on the floor and go back to sleep. But you don't and unlock the manacles on Lydia's wrists and sort of end of awkwardly sitting next to her while she cries into your shoulder. You kind of feel bad for thinking she was a drama queen earlier. This must be pretty traumatic.

 

* * *

 

"Do you want to come in?" Lydia asks you half an hour later as you sit in front of her house in your car. She's barely spoken to you since she stopped crying and you're honestly surprised she didn't bolt out of your car the first chance she got.

God, no. "I have to pick up Isaac at the bus station."

Your parents were thrilled when you told them you were sleeping over at Lydia Martin's house, even though you told them it was only for a school project. Too thrilled in fact, so you had to make it quite clear that you found Lydia vain and obnoxious, after which your mother told you that you should be _nice to her_ , because, after all, she was still recovering from a mountain lion attack. You guess your parents sympathies extend only to non-werewolf victims of werewolf attacks. You'd texted them this morning to tell them that you still weren't done, planning on getting a motel room and spending the rest of the day relaxing with Isaac.

Lydia doesn't respond immediately, then: "Isaac could come too," she says, sounding more hesitant than you've ever heard her sound before.

You turn to give her a strange look, because _what_ , but she's not looking at you. She's not even looking at her house, just staring out the windshield of your car at the road ahead of you blankly.

You don't want to. You want to go pick up Isaac and spend the rest of the day making out with him in a motel. You don't want to deal with a traumatized Lydia Martin, who doesn't even like you either, is just latching on to you because she doesn't have anyone else.

"Okay," you say slowly. "Do you want me to let you out now and I'll go get Isaac and come back or do you want to come to the bus station with me?"

Lydia doesn't reply or make any attempt to take off her seatbelt.

Right, you think dubiously, and start your engine again.

_Be there in five_ , you text Isaac. _We're going to Lydia's. BE NICE._

There's barely anyone at the bus terminal when you pull up, just a couple hungover businessmen and a couple college students home for the weekend. Isaac darts out of the station the second you pull up and quickly gets in the backseat, looking irritated. He's pale and exhausted-looking, you note, looking at him through the rearview mirror while he pulls on his seatbelt, but at least he's alive.

"So..." he says after a couple seconds of silence, as you pull back onto the road. "Have you been exorcised?"

"Good morning to you too," Lydia says frostily, not bothering to look back at Isaac while she speaks. "Do you realize you have dirt all over your hands?"

He does, smeared across his palms and under his fingernails, and Isaac scowls in response, but thankfully doesn't retort and start a fight, because you're really too tired to deal with that right now.

You park in Lydia's long driveway and even though Isaac is clearly not happy with the idea, he follows you inside Lydia's mansion without complaint.

The inside of Lydia's house is no less fancy and Isaac stares up at the chandelier in the landing and around at the immaculately decorated living and dining rooms. His wonder makes you uncomfortable, makes you wonder what he'd think of your house, which is smaller than Lydia's, but is still practically a castle compared to what he's used to.

"You need to take a shower," Lydia says, looking Isaac up and down in disgust. "And take off your shoes before you track mud all over the carpet."

Isaac smirks nastily at her, but does as he's told and Lydia walks up the stairs without another word, leaving you two staring up at her in confusion.

"Allison, what are we doing here?" Isaac asks uncomfortably when Lydia turns the corner, glancing around the expensive interior of Lydia's house again. "I thought you wanted to get a motel room."

You shrug your shoulders, not wanting to admit that you're here because you feel sorry for her, because you really doubt Isaac would consider that a good reason. "She probably has food," you tell him.

Isaac looks at you dubiously, but follows you upstairs after Lydia.

"Towel's on the counter," Lydia says in a practical tone, waiting outside of the bathroom in a long hallway that leads to many different rooms. She gives Isaac a cursory look. "Do you want me to throw your clothes in the laundry?"

"No," Isaac says defensively, clearly not wanting to give Lydia his clothes, even though his jeans have two large spots of mud on them at the knees and there are leaves sticking to his black hoodie.

"Have it your way," Lydia says dismissively. "Remember to hang up the towel after you're done."

Isaac glares at her and gives you an annoyed look before going into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

"Are you hungry?" Lydia asks you perfunctorily, not a hint of distress in her expression.

"Yeah, breakfast would be good," you say, a little taken aback by her matter-of-fact attitude. She really is a great actor.

"Well, the cook is off on the weekends, but the kitchen is fully stocked," Lydia says, heading back towards the stairs again.

_The cook?_ you think incredulously, but follow her back downstairs for lack of anything better to do.

You all end up in Lydia's room eating goat cheese, pepper, and sausage omelets with orange juice, you and Lydia on the bed and Isaac on the vanity chair next to you as you watch The Notebook on her Mac, which you're embarrassed to admit you actually liked when you saw it for the first time at a sleepover in middle school. This time it's pretty stupid, but fortunately Lydia falls asleep before the half-hour mark, so you can slip out of bed and turn it off.

You're kind of considering leaving right now-anything to get away from the utter awkwardness of the whole situation when you notice Isaac slumped back in the vanity chair, eyelids drooping.

"Isaac," you says quietly, walking over to him and shaking him lightly. "C'mon, get into bed."

Isaac grumbles, but lets you pull him up and walk him over to Lydia's bed, pulling back the covers and sliding underneath them as close to Lydia as you dare. Isaac buries his face in your neck, slinging an arm over your waist, his still-damp hair tickling your chin. Wet it looks brown instead of its usual dishwater color, and you stroke it softly, because Isaac really likes that, even though he pretends not to.

"Wha 'bout Lydia?" he mumbles into your neck.

"Asleep," you tell him gently. "You should be too."

"Wha 'bout her parents?"

"Don't worry about that, just go to sleep," you say, even though that is a good point, one you hadn't even thought to consider. "I'll be here."

Isaac doesn't respond and breathes deeply against your neck. You watch him for a while and then look up at Lydia's ceiling. You're not really tired, but at the same time you're exhausted. Despite your victory last night, you know nothing has really changed. You may have prevented things from getting worse, but they certainly haven't gotten any better. Isaac is still homeless and hunted by your family, and every full moon leaves him vulnerable to attack. Your grandfather plans to become a werewolf himself to cure his cancer, and while that seems understandable, the fact that it's your grandfather does not bode well. He's already a monster, and you don't want to know what he would do with supernatural abilities. Your relationship with your parents remains, as ever, full of lies.

Lydia grunts softly in her sleep behind you and you shift on to your back so you can look over at her. You don't really understand Lydia. You're kind of getting the impression that her entire personality is fake, though you have no idea why anyone would want to pretend to be a shallow airhead all the time. But, whatever, it's not really your business. With any luck, Lydia will have no further contact with the supernatural and the last month and a half will eventually fade away into a bad memory. You doubt she'll want anything to do with you after this, and you don't blame her, because who would want to get involved in this if they had a choice? Well, except your family, but they're murdering psychopaths, so logic is never going to apply to them.

You're not sure how long you stay like this, slipping in and out of sleep for lack of anything better to do, Isaac snoring into your neck and the temperature rising slightly as the day progresses.

You're in the middle of an extremely frustrating dream about paddling through a flooded mall in a canoe, but never actually getting anywhere, when a voice shakes you out of your dream.

"Uh, hello?"

You blink and raise your head muzzily, to see a middle-aged woman with brown hair standing at the door, looking at you in bewilderment. Shit!

"Uh," you say, dislodging Isaac as you sit up quickly and try to look presentable. "Hi."

"Hi," the woman who is no doubt Lydia's mother says dubiously. She doesn't look upset at finding two strangers, one of them a boy, in bed with her daughter, not like your parents would be, just slightly confused.

"Umm, sorry we had uh...a chemistry project that we came over to do, but then I guess we fell asleep," you lie, pretty terribly if you're being honest.

"Okay..." Lydia's mother says, the slightly confused look still not fading.

You have no idea what to say next, but thankfully Lydia rolls over and groans. "What time is it?"

"Almost three," her mother says and Lydia sits up and yawns, not at all bothered by the fact that her mother just walked in on this very strange situation.

"Hi, mom," she says casually, straightening her skirt. "How was your meeting?"

"Fine," Lydia's mother says, arching an eyebrow, and yeah, they're definitely related alright. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?"

"This is Allison," Lydia says, waving a dismissive hand at you. She pauses and looks down at Isaac, who is still sleeping, snoring into the sheets, with clear disdain. "And that's Isaac."

"Pleased to meet you," Lydia's mother says politely. "Will you be staying for dinner?"

"Uh, no, I actually had better be getting home," you say, wanting nothing more than to get away from this room and back to things that make sense. Not to mention you probably have several texts waiting on your phone from your parents wanting to know when you'll be home.

"Well, it was good meeting you," Lydia's mother says, barely looking at you. "Lydia, can I speak to you downstairs for a moment?"

Lydia sighs dramatically and then nods. Her mother retreats and you cringe. God, you want to be out of here.

"We'd better go," you say, pushing the covers off you and Isaac. "I don't want to get you in trouble with your mom."

"Oh, please, like she cares," Lydia says, getting out of bed and brushing down her clothing. "She probably just wants to gossip about who was wearing what at her Women's Club lunch meeting."

"Lydia, your wrists!" you hiss as she makes to leave the room, because they are indeed surrounded by a ring of nasty bruises.

Lydia rolls her eyes and grabs a cardigan out of her closet before leaving the room without a word. You immediately set about waking Isaac up gently, because he has a tendency to freak out when startled for reasons you'd rather not think about and sneak out the front door.

Well, at least that's over with, you think in relief as you drive home from dropping off Isaac at the library. That was just horrifically awkward, but you very much doubt you'll ever speak to Lydia Martin again, so at least there won't be a repeat performance.

Except you do end up speaking to Lydia Martin again. The very next day, in fact.

"Why aren't you sitting with Isaac?" Lydia says, setting her cafeteria tray down at the empty seat across from you during your lunch period.

You look up from your overcooked pasta in surprise at her expectant expression, perfect make-up and designer dress. She looks exactly the same as she usually does and that surprises you for some reason. Like, why would she be talking to you if something wasn't different?

"I can't," you say slowly. "My grandfather's the principal. He's the one who put up all those cameras in the hallway."

"They know about him?"

"Yes," you say, still slightly bemused. Why is she here, talking to you like you're friends or something? Shouldn't she go back to being prom queen or some other high school cliché?

Lydia frowns. "I thought your family killed werewolves."

"They do. They're just more focused on Derek Hale right now. But if they find out we're friends..."

"Well, that's just lovely," Lydia says, looking disgusted, though at her food or at your parents' psychopathy you're not sure.

"Everything...okay?" you ask, hesitantly, wondering if this is some conversational prelude to a disclosure of supernatural side effects.

"Oh, yes, no more evil werewolves controlling me," Lydia says offhandedly, spearing a meatball with her fork daintily, like being possessed by Peter Hale wasn't the most traumatizing thing she's ever been through.

"Well, that's good," you say awkwardly.

"Yes, it is," Lydia says decisively. "You know, I think he was making me break-out. I've had _terrible skin_ these past few weeks."

You look automatically to Isaac across the cafeteria, who is staring at the two of you, looking just about as confused as you feel.

Help, you think.

Except no help comes. Lydia follows you around the rest of the day, which is fairly easy for her considering you're in most of the same classes, talking incessantly about your schoolwork, your classmates, your plans for the weekend, and God, is it annoying. She does not seem to get the hint that you have no interest in making friendly small talk with her or whatever she's trying to do, and you're even more relieved than usual when the final bell rings.

"Are you hanging out with Isaac after school today?" Lydia asks, following you out of History and to your locker on the first floor.

"No, he has work," you say before you think better of it.

"Good, let's go shopping," Lydia says, sounding pleased. "I haven't had anyone to go with for ages and you clearly need a new wardrobe."

You're wearing an old pair of flare jeans that haven't been in style for at least two years, a black t-shirt, and a cardigan that's a size too big, but you still scowl at her criticism.

"I don't have any money," you lie coldly. You have better things to do than go to the mall with Lydia Martin, like you're a normal teenager. And besides, your money is not for buying useless things like pretty clothes. Your money is for Isaac.

"My treat," Lydia presses, looking at you pointedly. "You saved me from an insane werewolf ghost; the least I can do is buy you a decent outfit."

Who the hell do you think you are? you think, looking at her in disgust. Lydia knows your situation and still she thinks that you want to play dress-up when your family is trying to kill innocent werewolves, your dying grandfather plots to make himself even more powerful, and your...whatever Isaac is sleeps in a warehouse and showers in the boy's locker room. Does she think she can distract you from your completely screwed up life or is she stupid enough to think consumerism will solve all your problems?

"What else were you going to do?" Lydia asks you patronizingly when you don't respond right away. "Lock yourself in your room and listen to depressing music for the rest of the night?"

...yes, actually.

So you go to the mall with Lydia.

"You're really quite pretty, you know," Lydia says matter-of-factly, pulling another size six from the rack and tossing it over her shoulder in a manner that suggests she does this quite often. "Some mascara, some concealer, _definitely_ something for your lips, they're all chapped, and your eyebrows...you'll clean up nicely. We should definitely gets something colorful, but not too colorful. We wouldn't want to wash you out."

Oh, of course, not, that would be _terrible_ , you think sarcastically, idly thumbing at a dark purple v-neck dress that you'd probably be okay with. It's a size too small though. God, with the way this is going you wouldn't be surprised if Lydia burst into "Popular" at any moment.

"Allison, that's much too dark, this one is better," Lydia says, holding up a forest green dress with small leaf patterns on the fabric. It's...not bad actually.

"It's okay," you say grudgingly, taking it from her and trying not to feel stupid.

It's just...you sort of gave up on stuff like this a year and a half and ago. And starting to care about your looks again...it just seems like so much work. Like, why even bother? It's not that you don't want to look pretty, to have nice clothes. You did Before and you still do. It just...seems stupid now. Like your priorities are messed up.

"Don't you want to look nice for Isaac?" Lydia asks, and you're honestly surprised that she manages to get the sentence out without grimacing at the thought of him.

"No," you say, giving her a strange look, because one, you really doubt Isaac would notice if you bought a new outfit, and two, does she really believe in that rom-com pretty actress pretends to be ugly, gets a makeover, and causes love-interest's jaw to drop when he sees her at the prom crap?

Lydia frown in confusion, clearly not expecting that answer. "What?"

"He's a boy," you explain, though as you say it you realize that Lydia probably has a lot more experience with boys than you do. "They don't notice anything."

Lydia looks puzzled for a second and then she laughs. "Story of my life," she says, looking just a little too casual for it to be believable. "C'mon, let's go to the dressing rooms, you _have_ to try this on."

The green dress doesn't end up fitting right, but you end up getting a dark magenta one with a window in the back that you're definitely going to have to wear leggings with. Afterward you go over to Lydia's house and she has way too much fun giving you a makeover, chatting happily about your skin tone and what colors would look the best on you. You sit very still and try not to feel...anything really. There's a part of you that likes this, likes being pampered, being taken care of, even in this small way, but you don't like it. You don't want to be like this. You want to be strong.

Your parents are very surprised to see you wearing make-up at dinner, which you haven't worn for a year and a half, and it makes you very uncomfortable, want to duck your head down and not look at them for the rest of the night. You go upstairs and scrub it off after dessert, and spend the rest of the night doing homework on your bed, trying not to look at yourself in your bedroom mirror.

And that's kind of how the rest of the week goes. Lydia just inserts herself into your life like it's a completely normal thing to do, not at all deterred by the fact that you don't really like her. Not that you've told her this. You don't mind, you guess, being around her at school. It was kind of boring now that you can't sit with Isaac anymore. And Lydia _knows_. You don't have to lie around her, which is always a relief. And anyway, it's only temporary. You have no illusions that once Lydia gets back in her old friends' good graces, she won't run back to them immediately and start ignoring you again. You just wish Isaac and Lydia got along better. You'd like to blame Lydia for the entire thing, but it's really hard to deny that Isaac is inexplicably hostile and seems to go out of his way to insult her.

"Is this all you do?" Lydia says later in the week, sitting in your usual corner of the library doing homework. Well, Isaac is doing homework. You're on your laptop trying to look up the make and model of Kate's guns so you can better understand how to use them.

"What do you mean?" you ask, taking your eyes off your screen to look up at her in the other beanbag.

"You don't go anywhere? Do anything?" Lydia says dubiously, somehow managing to have perfect posture while sitting in a beanbag chair.

"We're trying to avoid being seen together," you explain, vaguely annoyed that she doesn't remember how precarious your situation really is.

"You are more than welcome to leave and hang out with your other friends," Isaac says nastily from next to you, lying on his stomach on the floor highlighting a chapter in his Econ book. "Oh, _wait_ , you don't have any."

"You're one to talk," Lydia shoots back without hesitation. "You spent, what, two weeks, lurking around with Vernon Boyd and Erica Reyes before they got sick of you?"

"That's enough!" you say sharply as Isaac opens his mouth to retort. "I told you to _stop antagonizing_ each other."

Isaac's shoulders slump and he looks back down at his book without comment, but Lydia surprises you by also backing down, crossing her arms over her chest in annoyance.

In fact, they don't snipe at each other for the rest of the afternoon. It's kind of a miracle.

"Do you miss them?" you ask Isaac later that night, curled against him in his sleeping bag in the warehouse, skin still tingling from the warmth of his hands underneath your shirt earlier.

You try to sound as neutral about it as possible, because if he does, he does, but you don't like the thought of him missing them. Partly because you haven't seen anything in them that's worth missing, but also because something itches inside you at the thought of him wanting the attention of _other people_. Yeah, apparently you're going to be _that_ kind of girlfriend.

"Who?" Isaac mumbles against your hair, which he seems to like smelling. Which is kind of weird, because you'd think the scent of your shampoo would be too strong for his werewolf nose, but whatever. "Oh, you mean Erica and Boyd? Not really."

You tilt your head to look up at him when he doesn't elaborate, raising your eyebrows. You're not sure he can see it in the bad light though.

"We, you know, weren't actually friends," Isaac says sleepily, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear. "Derek just picked us. I had a science project with Erica in middle school one time, but I think I only talked to Boyd once before. They were okay, but it wasn't...it wasn't real, you know."

Good, you think automatically, which is kind of creepy, and snuggle in closer to Isaac's chest. It's not that the fact that he has no one else makes you happy, you tell yourself. It's just that everyone else who has been in his life has done a terrible job taking care of him, and you can't trust them. It's just better if you do it yourself.

You kiss him again and think, very clearly, _I am going to take care of you_ , as if you think it hard enough everything will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was amusing to write, mostly because of Allison's teenage angst, but also because s2!Lydia. Who is terrible, but yay, friends! Please comment!


	6. Who, who are you really?

Lydia gets sick enough of hanging out at the library after school on the days that Isaac doesn't have work that she starts inviting both of you over after school. It's awkward, especially for Isaac, who is visibly uncomfortable being around Lydia's mother, but you usually get dinner there, which is a huge plus. Lydia's cook makes the best French food you've had since you visited your relatives in Orléans two years ago and didn't ask questions when you snuck into the kitchen and asked if she could give Isaac an extra helping whenever you were over for dinner. Lydia's mother seems nice, if a little bemused by her daughter's odd new friends who are suddenly always around, but she's too polite, and possibly too grateful, to ask any prying questions. Mostly you hang out and do homework or watch movies. It's nice, even though Isaac and Lydia don't really like each other. They at least attempt to get along for your sake, but you can tell Lydia would rather just hang out with you, and Isaac finds Lydia's prissiness grating.

"So..." Lydia asks a couple weeks into this new routine, painting your toenails while Isaac naps on your stomach on her bed. "I have to ask. Why is he homeless?"

You glance down at Isaac automatically, but he still looks blissfully asleep, even drooling a bit on the new shirt Lydia bought you over the weekend.

You shrug your shoulders uncomfortably, a difficult movement considering you don't want to dislodge Isaac or ruin your toenails. "He can't go home," you say, because it's true, but you can't tell her the whole story. It isn't your place.

"Why not?" Lydia asks, finishing with your left foot and moving back to the right to give it another coat. "Because he's a werewolf?"

"Yeah," you lie, because that seems like a reasonable enough alternative. "That bridge can't be unburnt."

"Yeah, I guess," Lydia says, clearly able to tell that that isn't the whole story, but she doesn't push, most likely because she doesn't care enough, considering it took her three weeks to ask why Isaac is homeless. She finishes your toenails and caps the bottle deftly. "Alright, all done."

You crane your neck to see and smile at their shiny bright purple color. "Thanks. I'll do yours in a minute."

"Okay," Lydia says and flops down on the bed beside you. Isaac makes a grumbling sound against your stomach at the disturbance and shifts a little, but doesn't wake up.

Lydia gives Isaac a cursory look and scoffs a little, scorn all over her face. "You have terrible taste in men," she says, completely unapologetically.

"Look who's talking," you reply without thinking.

Lydia stiffens for a second before letting out a very fake-sounding laugh and slumping back against her pillow. "True," she says, far too casually. "But, whatever, I'm over him."

What could you possibly see in him? you want to ask her, but you know that question could be easily turned back around on you. And to be honest, you don't really have an answer for what you see in Isaac. He's funny, sometimes, you guess. He really likes you. He stood up to Derek for you. He's your best friend and you'd pretty much do anything for him. Still, not exactly a ringing endorsement.

"He knows about Scott," you say, threading your fingers through Isaac's curls gently without thinking much about it. "He found out in February."

Lydia gives you a wide-eyed look and you look away uncomfortably, down at Isaac's head on your stomach. You're not really sure why you're telling her this. It doesn't seem like any good could come of it.

"He was blackmailing Scott or threatening to tell someone...I don't know, I never found out. I told him if he didn't leave Scott alone or if he told anyone I'd kill him."

Lydia doesn't say anything and when you dare look up at her again she's frozen on the bed, still staring at you with wide eyes.

"It worked," you say, shrugging uncomfortably.

"What are you going to do about your grandfather?" Lydia asks after a couple seconds, surprising you by not commenting on Jackson.

"I don't know," you say, looking away from her back up at the ceiling, your stomach twisting in anxiety at the mere thought of him. "He'll kill people to get what he wants. And who knows what he'll do after he gets it."

You don't really care if he kills Derek Hale, but you have a horrible feeling that he's not just going to stop there. Scott and Isaac could be next. Erica and Boyd will no doubt be killed as well. And then maybe he'll turn on your parents...

"Don't you think you should tell your parents?" Lydia asks hesitantly. "I mean, they should probably know, right?"

"They'd never believe me," you respond gloomily. "And then they'd want me to join the family business. It's better if I just handle it myself."

"How?" Lydia demands, looking bewildered. She sits up, looking deathly serious, which is strange because usually Lydia likes to pretend that nothing phases her. "How on earth do you plan on doing that, because Allison, you said he has a whole group of other hunters who do what he says, and he has guns. And how can you stop them if you can't reveal that you know what's going on?"

"I just will," you snap, feeling sick and defensive. "Look, I just...I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Lydia looks annoyed, and you're vaguely surprised at her concern, but she lets it go.

Everything will be okay, you tell yourself, trying to calm down before Isaac wakes up. You'll figure something out. And even if you don't, you can always shoot him in the head.

 

* * *

 

You and Lydia are sitting in the cafeteria at lunch the next day as usual when Scott and Stiles come and sit down right next to you in an extremely unsubtle fashion.

"Heyyy, Lydia," Stiles says, plopping his tray down next to her. "I sort of had some questions about, you know, that Chemistry chapter, so I was kind of wondering if you did any tutoring or..."

"I need to talk to you," Scott mutters, sitting down extremely close to you, so close that you can smell his aftershave. "It's about Gerard."

"No," Lydia says flatly, looking at Stiles like he's a particularly disgusting bug, before turning away from his blatant attempts to distract her. "What is going on?"

"Uh...I was just hoping to talk to Allison alone," Scott says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks darkening in embarrassment. It's actually pretty convincing. It really does look like he just wants to ask you out again.

"It's about Gerard," you tell Lydia, taking another bite of your mashed potatoes, because someone should be trying to be subtle here. You're a little anxious at them talking to you at school, but there are no cameras in the cafeteria, probably because Gerard couldn't make a convincing case for them as there are always teachers supervising, so as long as this gets finished quickly, you'll probably be okay.

"Oh, thank God," Lydia says, looking surprisingly relieved. "Please tell me you have some idea what to do about him, because we don't have a clue."

"I..." Scott says, looking shocked and sort of adorably bewildered. "What?"

"She knows," you tell him, shrugging your shoulders. You feel a bit guilty, even though it isn't your fault. You didn't tell Lydia about Scott-she figured it out herself.

"What?" Stiles yelps and you wince automatically. Why does he have to be so loud? "You _told_ her?"

"Well, the crazy man with fangs biting me was also a fairly large hint," Lydia says sarcastically. "What about Gerard?"

"I...he," Scott says, looking between you and Lydia hesitantly, like he's not sure if he should trust you. That annoys you more than it should. "We have a plan. Just in case he...wait, you know why he's here, right?"

"He's dying of cancer and wants to become a werewolf to cure himself," you say, sort of surprised that they'd come to the same conclusion.

"Yeah, that's what we think too," Scott says, nodding firmly. "So we have a plan, just in case he actually succeeds." He glances around the cafeteria to see if anyone's watching them and pulls a silver pill box out of his pocket, identical to the one you've seen Gerard carry around with him. "That's where you come in."

"You're going to _poison_ him?" you ask, shocked at his ruthlessness. You didn't think-You'd never expected that _Scott_ of all people would ever-

"No, it's mountain ash," Scott says, like that's supposed to mean something to you. "It's sort of like werewolf repellant, I guess. Werewolves can't cross a mountain ash circle," he adds when you raise your eyebrows questioningly.

"What's wrong with wolfsbane?" you ask, but you take the silver box out of his hands and stick it in your pocket anyway.

"Wolfsbane is poisonous to humans too, you know," Stiles says, looking at you disbelievingly. "What kind of hunter _are you_?"

His question shocks you into stillness for a second and you feel your face flush with sudden anger with startlingly alacrity.

"I am _not_ a hunter," you tell him coldly, because how dare he? You've done nothing but try and help Scott and yet he still thinks of you as one of those _murderers_? You want to slap him.

Both Stiles and Scott look shocked at your response, while Lydia's lips just thin as she watches your interactions carefully.

"Sorry," Scott says after a beat, even though it wasn't him who called you a murderer. "But can you do it? Just in case...I mean, who knows what he'll do if he becomes a werewolf?"

You nod shortly, still not completely over Stiles's comment. You should probably ask what will happen if Gerard gets bitten while mountain ash courses through his veins, but you don't actually care. If Scott really had come up with a way to poison Gerard without it looking suspicious, you would have been shocked, yes, but you'd have probably helped anyway. "No problem," you say, looking back down at your lunch rather than have to look at either of them for any longer.

"Uh, so how exactly are you not a werewolf?" Stiles asks Lydia curiously. "I mean, you're not _dead_ , so-"

"Do I look like I'm interested in answering your stupid questions?" Lydia asks cruelly, even for her. "You've said your piece, now leave."

You look up to see Stiles flush in embarrassment and Scott scowl, but they do as she asks and depart without another word. Lydia watches them as they go and then turns back to her food, smirking in an extremely self-satisfied manner.

"Thanks," you say quietly, poking at your green beans.

"I don't have time for idiots," Lydia says loftily and dainty stabs one of her green beans with her fork.

 

* * *

 

"Are you okay?" is the first thing Isaac asks you when he gets into your car after school, looking at you carefully.

You give him an odd look and hit the accelerator. "Yes."

"You seemed pretty pissed off at lunch," Isaac says with raised brows, because of course he was eavesdropping on your conversation.

"No, I wasn't," you say, because that would be stupid. Stiles clearly hadn't meant anything by it, he'd just been surprised by your lack of knowledge of the supernatural, probably because he assumed you'd been raised in it.

"I can tell you're lying, you know," Isaac says and when you glance at him quickly before turning your attention back to the road he looks unimpressed.

"Yeah, how?" you say antagonistically, because what does he _want_ from you? Does he want you to spill all your now-tainted childhood memories and cry over the fact that you will never be able to trust your parents again? Because that? Not going to happen.

"Your heartbeat," Isaac answers placidly, looking at his fingernails instead of at you.

"Really?" you ask skeptically.

"Yup, people's heart rate changes when they lie," Isaac says, looking smug.

You guess that makes sense. Isn't that how lie detectors work? But aren't they notoriously unreliable?

You grunt dismissively and turn your focus back onto the road. You're tired, you realize. You don't want to go to the library, do homework, and make stupid small talk. And you don't have to.

"Uh, where are we going?" Isaac asks when you miss the turn for the library.

"Motel," you say calmly, without a glance in his direction.

"Oh," Isaac says quietly, and does not talk for the rest of trip.

About half an hour later, when Isaac is on top of you, kissing you hungrily while you clutch at his bare sides under his shirt, you realize that you miscalculated. It's not that you don't want to be here. It's not even that you don't like kissing him. It's just that...making out...it just gets kind of boring after a while. It's not like you hate it or don't like Isaac anymore, it's just that it's so _boring_. Seriously there is only so much swapping saliva you can partake in before it starts getting repetitive. You feel guilty about it because Isaac clearly loves it, is practically desperate for it, making you wonder if neither of his parents ever hugged him as a child. Which is stupid, because neither of _your_ parents ever really hugged you as a child and you don't have intimacy issues. Clearly.

Usually you feel bad pushing him off and just go with it, but you're tired and stressed and you just don't feel like doing anything you really don't want to right now. So. Time for something different.

You roll him over so that you're on top, Isaac going easily. You get the impression that he likes being pinned. You sit on his stomach and lean back, enjoying the way his eyes go wide when you take off your shirt.

You've never taken your shirt off in front of anyone before, but it feels less weird than it should, even with the way Isaac is blatantly gaping at your boobs. Your bra is beige and boring, so it's definitely an ego boost.

Until, you realize in horror, that these jeans cause the excess fat on your stomach to muffin top. Shit.

You're mortified for a few seconds, not knowing what to do, and then you decide, screw it, better give him something better to look at, and take off your bra as well.

"Oh, shit," Isaac says, almost reverently, and that definitely helps with your self-confidence right now.

You smirk down at him despite the nervousness in your gut and tilt your head challengingly. "Your turn."

Isaac's eyes widen and then he scrambles to struggle out of his shirt. And when you say struggle, you mean _struggle_. You have to bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing when he sort of gets stuck and then help him pull it over his head, touching his bare chest hesitantly. He's not ripped or anything, but he's definitely in better shape than you are and you remind yourself that you should probably start running again. Isaac, predictably, pulls you down for a kiss and both of you groan softly when your bare boobs make contact with his chest. It feels shockingly good, and so you don't feel the slightest bit of shame pulling one of his hands off your waist and bringing it up to touch your left breast.

"Mmf, _Allison_ ," Isaac groans, kissing your chin on accident as he squeezes your breast gently, your nipples hardening under his touch, and _oh_ , that's good. You find yourself baring your neck automatically and moan softly when he kisses down your throat. You stroke your hands down his chest, wanting to touch him in return and it should probably be awkward-you really have no idea what you're doing-but you pretty much stop caring when he slides his leg between your thighs and _grinds_. You let out an embarrassing porn star moan when his teeth sink into your neck and shit, you're totally getting wet right now and it feels _great_.

Isaac growls in response and flips you over so fast you don't even have time to yelp, pinning you to the bed and mouthing down your neck to your boobs before you can even splutter in protest.

He sucks your right nipple into his mouth, squeezing both of your breasts at the same time, and looks up at you deviously, an image that should send a throbbing ache between your legs and want his thigh back between them. But it doesn't, because his eyes are glowing bright gold and the hands clutching your boobs have long yellowish claws attached to them, lighting scrapping your sensitive skin.

You go very still.

Isaac frowns at your expression. "What?"

"Uh, claws," you say awkwardly, glancing down at his hands.

"Oh, shit," Isaac says, jerking his hands away from you and scrambling backward on the bed. "Uh, that wasn't...I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine," you say, even though it's not really. They look really sharp. He could have really hurt you.

You sit up and resist the urge to cover yourself as Isaac closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths. Why had he done that, _now_ of all times? The full moon is more than a week away. Was it just because he was turned-on? Is that actually a _thing_? A thing you're going to have to deal with?

Isaac's claws don't recede and you find yourself eyeing them with interest. This is the closest you've ever been to werewolf before, obviously, and you have to admit you're curious. You don't really know all that much about werewolves, besides what you've managed to overhear from your parents' conversations over the years and who knows how much of that is actually true?

The claws are pretty gross, though. All yellow and dirty-looking.

"Why are your eyes yellow?" you ask when Isaac swears and gives up trying to go back to normal, hiding his face in the sheets by the foot of the bed in embarrassment.

"All werewolves have yellow eyes, except alphas," Isaac says, glancing up at you, eyes still glowing, his features scrunched sort of adorably.

You shift forward and lie down on your stomach in front of him, partly to hide your boobs and partly to get a better look.

They really are very glowly, you think, examining his eyes closely. And his pupils are weird. You definitely prefer his human eyes.

"Some werewolves have blue eyes," you tell him, resisting the urge to push open his mouth to see if he has fangs. "I've seen it."

Isaac has blue eyes normally and so did Emily Doroshenko; you assumed his werewolf eyes would be blue likes her's too.

"Really?" Isaac says, unsurprisingly just as ignorant as you are about the dangerous world he's suddenly found himself thrust into. To your surprise, his eyes abruptly fade back to their normal blue. You glance down at his hands and see that his claws are gone as well. Was it because you were distracting him?

You feel sort of stupidly happy now that he looks normal again and squirm over to lie next to him on the foot of the bed, looking over the broad expanse of his bare back interestedly. It's a very nice back. Pale and smooth. You kind of want to lie on top of it, so you do.

"Uh, Allison," Isaac says when you roll on top of him, snuggling against all that nice skin. It feels really good against your boobs. "What are you doing?"

"Lying on top of you," you tell him, nuzzling your nose into his neck and stroking your hands against his sides, causing him to jolt in response. "You're very comfortable."

Well, sort of bony, but the enjoyment you're getting out of this is mostly sexual anyway, so that's different.

"Yeah, that's not weird at all," Isaac says and rolls you off him, pulling you close so that you're lying on his chest instead.

You grin in response and kiss his sternum lightly. Isaac does not have a lot of chest hair, just a smattering of dark blond curls, and you nuzzle your nose against his right nipple happily. Isaac groans and you smirk before crawling up to kiss him again, eager to get back to your earlier activities.

"Uh, Allison, maybe that's not such a good idea," Isaac says weakly, even as he bares his neck under your mouth and smooths his hands up your back. "I'm not really sure I can... _uh_...claws might be a problem again."

Seriously? You groan and drop your head down onto his neck and then raise it to look at him balefully.

"Yeah, don't really know how to control it yet," Isaac mutters, trying to avoid looking both in your eyes and at your boobs pressed up against him. "Derek was supposed to teach us, but..."

Ugh, Derek. Mood officially ruined.

"How were you supposed to do that?" you asks, sitting up on your elbows to look at him.

"Uh," Isaac says, tearing his eyes away from your boobs and flushing. It should probably be kind of annoying how he can't stop staring at your chest, but to be honest it's kind of flattering. You're only a B cup, after all. All the fat went straight for your stomach and arms. And your ass, but, you know, in a good way. "Something about having an anchor-something about having something to anchor yourself to? He wasn't very specific."

Shocker.

"Like, it's okay most of the time, just, uh...when my heart rate goes up. And the full moon."

You frown. "Wait, you can control it on the full moon?"

Isaac shrugs. "Derek can."

You roll over onto your back and stare up unseeingly at the ceiling, your chest tight all of the sudden and aching. Any remaining good mood from earlier is completely gone now and you suddenly feel very numb.

"Allison?" Isaac says worriedly, shifting over to look at you.

Werewolves can control themselves on the full moon. If they're taught properly. And yet your parents murder them anyway. You want to throw up.

"'S nothing," you say quietly, feeling like you're about to start sobbing at any second and bury your face back in Isaac's neck, clutching at his waist.

Isaac, who always respects when you don't want to talk about something, says nothing, just tentatively wraps his arms around you and holds you for a long time.

 

* * *

 

It's actually quite easy to replace Gerard's pills with Scott's. A couple days after Scott approached you in the cafeteria, Gerard leaves his black jacket out on the couch when he goes to the bathroom. You sit down next to it and trade pill boxes while your parents complain about how high their income taxes are this year. It takes less than ten seconds.

_Give it time. You're young, you know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, Allison and Isaac are so weird. They're very amusing to write. Anyway, sorry this chapter was so short. Next one will be longer. Please comment!


	7. And where, where are you going?

You're starting to get anxious by the time the April full moon comes around. Gerard has been here for two months now and still hasn't made his move. You've gotten another refill of pills from Scott but you worry the longer this goes on the more likely it is that he'll realize they're not the same pills as his old ones. You still don't have a time frame for how long he's going to live. You didn't think he'd want to stick around, play nice, and pretend to be a high school principal for long, but what if he has two years or something? You did not expect him to be this patient. You can't just sit around and hope you'll be in the right place at the right time to stop him. You need more information. "I have no idea what he's planning," Scott says tightly, arms crossed over his chest uncomfortably. You'd asked to meet him in the woods after school so you could talk about what to do about Gerard, but you hadn't told him Isaac would be here and you're starting to think you should have. Both Scott and Stiles seem unnerved by his presence and keep giving him distrustful looks, even though they haven't said anything about him. Do they not realize that Isaac is no longer with Derek? Haven't they noticed Erica and Boyd avoiding him at school?

To be fair though, Isaac seems just as irritated with them as they are with him.

"He made some weird cryptic threat at the championship game, but I don't know, he seemed..." Scott continues, biting his lip contemplatively, "...weirdly patient."

Crap.

"And then he quoted Shakespeare," Stiles says, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jacket and kicking idly at some fallen leaves on the ground. "Dude loves Shakespeare. And yet somehow that makes him even more terrifying."

You have no idea, you think darkly, remembering the feel of Gerard slamming you face-first into the garage wall.

"Yes, well, that's all very fascinating, but that still doesn't solve any of our problems," Lydia says tartly, trying very hard not to sink heels first into the mud. You can't believe she walked all this way in those heels without tripping and braining herself on a rock. Actually you can't believe her willingness to get involved in this when it doesn't concern her in the slightest. You really had not expected loyalty to be one of Lydia's defining traits, but it kind of is. It's not just loyalty either; it's loyalty to _you_. You're not sure how you feel about that. "Does no one here really have any idea how to stop him?"

"Hey, I'm all for locking him and Derek in a room and letting them kill each other," Stiles says flippantly.

"Stiles, that's not funny," Scott protests, looking upset at his best friend's ruthlessness.

"I have no problem with that plan," you say, but you know it will never happen, because Scott clearly does, and you know Isaac wouldn't be happy with it either.

"No one is killing anyone," Scott says tersely, glaring at you now. "There has to be another way."

"Yeah, you say that, but does that ever really work out for you?" Isaac says, looking unimpressed with Scott's naivete. "I don't see Gerard going out without a fight and considering he wants to murder us all, I say he's the one who should die."

"Hey, you want to go up against grandpa murder, be my guest, just leave us out of it," Stiles says, scowling at Isaac. "Just don't be surprised if he cuts you in half with a sword."

Please let that be hyperbole, you think, but it's probably not. You would not be at all surprised if Gerard has a sword.

"What about Derek?" Scott asks, as Isaac gives Stiles an annoyed look. "Have you tried talking to him? Because he might be planning something as well." He gives Isaac a speculative look. "Do you know what he's going to do?"

You let out an inappropriate snort of laughter. "Derek and I had a slight philosophical disagreement which ended in me threatening to shoot him in the head if I ever see him again," you reply when they all turn to look at you in confusion. "So, no."

"Oh," Stiles says, while Scott looks horrified. "Right. So I guess we're talking to him then."

"I wish you the same luck that I had," you tell him and try not to be annoyed at the uncomfortable look on Isaac's face. Derek's a horrible person, but you need to be more understanding that from Isaac's point of view, Derek saved him from his dad, even if he had completely selfish motives for it.

"Well, this has been fun," Lydia says after an awkward silence, looking down at her muddy shoes in disgust. "Next time let's meet in an abandoned warehouse like normal people, shall we?"

"Good luck," you tell Scott, attempting to give him an encouraging smile, and you do mean it. Derek could potentially be very useful against Gerard. You just don't think you can have a conversation with him without wanting to kill him.

You turn away and Isaac pushes off the tree he's been leaning against artfully because he's a drama queen like that, making a note to ask what exactly happened between him and Scott that makes Scott glare at him like that.

"So...completely off topic, but I just have to ask," Stiles says, and you turn around automatically to look at him. "Are you two a thing now, or what?"

He looks completely unabashed, looking between you and Isaac expectantly and you stare at him confusion, because _really_? _That's_ what he wants to know?

" _Stiles_ ," Scott hisses, going red with embarrassment. He turns to look at you in horror, guilt all over his face even though he didn't even do anything wrong. "Uh...that's not...I mean-"

"Oh, my God, can we leave now?" Lydia complains, fortunately.

"Please," Isaac says, looking at Stiles in unveiled disdain.

"Tell me if you find out anything else," you tell Scott and then turn away without a second glance at Stiles.

"Right, just asking!" Stiles yells at your retreating back and you roll your eyes at Lydia, even as your chest aches uncomfortably, because you know why he asked that.

"Oh, my God, Stiles, _shut up_ ," you hear Scott say before you stop being able to hear them, though by the smirk on Isaac's face he's clearly berating Stiles for his terrible social skills.

"If they're our only hope, we're all going to die," Lydia says flatly, expertly maneuvering her way around a couple tree roots.

"I actually agree with you for once," Isaac says with a snort.

"Shut up, Isaac."

 

* * *

 

Two hours after you drop Isaac off at the bus station on the full moon, he calls you while you're in the middle of grocery shopping.

"Hello?" you say hesitantly, wondering if he'd butt-dialed you.

"Hey," Isaac says, sounding completely normal. "Can you come pick me up? Don't really need to be here."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" you say, remembering Scott's creepiness on the full moon. "You're not..." Feral?

"The anchor thing," Isaac says, sounding uncomfortable. "It works. I'm not, you know. It's still a little, I dunno, it feels like I had five cups of coffee, but I'm, you know, normal."

"Okay," you say, ducking your head down and closing your eyes in relief, because this is good, this is great actually. From now on he can just stay in on the full moon.

"And so now I'm incredibly bored," Isaac says, sounding like his regular self. "So I'm going to take the bus back. Can you pick me up?"

"Yeah, sure," you reply.

But you don't end up picking him up at the bus station. Instead you just barely miss a green light and by the time you get to the bus terminal, there's ten or so people hiding under benches, broken glass and bullet holes everywhere, and a splatter of blood all over the side of the bus Isaac had taken back.

For a second you just stare at the scene uncomprehendingly. Then, the sounds of sirens in the distance jars you into action. You speed off without a second thought, your heart hammering so hard in your chest that you feel it might burst out of your chest like the Alien.

"No, no, no, no," you say when the light in front of you turns red, shaking like a leaf in your seat. "This isn't happening, this can't be happening."

Did they kill him? Did they take him?

" _Isaac_ ," you sob, dropping your head down onto the steering wheel and gripping it so tight your hands ache. "Please, please, please..."

He can't be dead. He _can't_ be, you _need him_ , how could you not, just go on without him?

The car behind you honks its horn and you sit up and realize the light is green. You speed ahead and pull over on the shoulder immediately, rummaging around in your purse for a stupidly long amount of time to find your phone. You're just about to call him when you pause, taking shuddering breaths, and realize what a terrible mistake that could be. If Gerard has him, if they have his phone...

"No, God, please," you sob and clutch the phone to your forehead.

You can't. You want to but you can't. You don't know what to do, where to go. If he's alive, if they have him...you have no idea where they'd take him. Surely not back to your house. Why is this happening?

Before you start to have a complete panic attack your phone buzzes against your head and your heart leaps when you see the caller ID "Sam" in bolded white letters on your screen.

"Isaac!" you choke out, tears rolling down your cheeks, the phone shaking violently in your hands as you hold it up to your ear.

"Where are you?" he says on the other end, breathing heavily.

"Are you okay?" you sob, slumping against the steering wheel again because he's alive. He's _alive_. "Isaac, I saw, when I got there...there was so much blood-"

"I'm fine," Isaac says, but his voice is shaking badly. "Allison, they just...they _shot_ me! I got off the bus and they just-"

"Are you okay?" you repeat helplessly. "Where are you?!"

"I'm fine, I healed, but they're still...they're still looking for me. I'm behind the Jimmy John's on Sycamore, but they drove by a second ago and I don't think I can move without them seei-"

"Don't move, I'll be right there," you say, putting him on speaker phone and balancing your phone in your cup holder before starting your car again. Jimmy John's is barely two blocks away. "Just please, don't hang up!"

"O-Okay," Isaac says, sounding scared. "I just, Allison, what if they see you-"

"Then they see me!" you snaps, wiping your eyes furiously while you speed through a yellow light. You can't think about the consequences of your actions right now, not with Isaac's life on the line.

"But Allison if they..." He stops and then says quietly. "Shit."

"Wh-"

A gunshot goes off and you nearly drive off the road. "Isaac!" you yell, futilely, because there's no reply and a car angrily honks its horn behind you as you cut them off and speed into the parking lot behind the Jimmy John's. You skid to a stop as you get behind the fast food chain to see a young guy in a leather jacket with his gun inches from Isaac's face, Isaac pressed up against the dumpster, his shirt covered in blood.

They both jump and turn to stare at you, their faces very white in your headlights and you don't give it a second's thought before you hit the accelerator.

The hunter, a young guy in his early twenties with shaggy brown hair and freckles, doesn't even have time to shout before you slam into him, sending him flying back several feet onto the pavement. You don't even give him a second glance before you turn to Isaac and scream, "Get in!" and hightail it out of there the second he throws himself into your passenger seat.

"Oh, my God," you say, staring blankly ahead of you as you swerve back onto the road. "Oh, my God. Did I kill him? Is he...is he dead?"

"I don't know," Isaac says, leaning over to hide his face in his knees. "I don't... _shit_!"

"How did they know you were there?" you yell angrily. "How did they- _Goddammit_!"

Isaac grumbles something into his knees while you continue your terrible driving, heading to the motel on auto-pilot.

"What?"

"I said pull over!" Isaac chokes and throws himself out of the door the second you do to throw up all over his shoes.

Somehow, you get to the motel. It's all kind of a blur actually, one second you're driving and the next you're curled up on the bed, shaking violently while Isaac rinses out his mouth in the bathroom.

That hunter. You might have killed him. He might have seen you. If you'd been one second later Isaac might be dead too.

You don't want to think about this right now. You can't, it feels like if you're left alone with your thoughts for one more second you might explode. You need something else.

"Isaac," you say hoarsely, pushing your hair back with trembling hands. "Isaac, come here."

Isaac stumbles out of the bathroom after a second, shirt still covered in blood. There's holes in it from the bullets and you find yourself reaching for them automatically, just to check that he's really not injured. Isaac doesn't say anything as your fingers slowly poke through the holes in his shirt, the blue v-neck, your favorite. And now it's ruined.

But he's alive. Your fingers come back bloody, but there's no wounds under the blood. He's completely and utterly healed.

"Allison," Isaac chokes out as you stare at your bloody fingers and you look up to see the anguished look on his face, the way his shoulders shake.

"Come here," you say quietly and pull him into bed with you, struggling with the musty bedspread to get under it and warm him up.

Isaac continues to shake as you get your shirts off and press your bare skin against each other, burying his face in your hair and clutching your waist. You run your hands over his back, his chest, his biceps, just to make sure he's solid, _real_ , but it's not enough. Even after you're no longer shivering, you need something else. Isaac seems to realize it at the same time because he crushes his mouth against yours hungrily and rolls on top of you.

"Allison," he whispers needily, kissing your neck as you struggle to get your bra off. "Allison, _please_."

"I know," you groan, the way he said please causing an ache to throb between your legs.

He slides down to kiss and knead at your breasts the second you get your bra off and you let out an embarrassing moan and wrap your calves around his waist. Your jeans feel heavy and constricting, and you don't give much thought to unbuttoning your jeans and pushing them down your legs. Isaac removes his mouth from your left nipple and stares down at your underwear-gray and boring, of course, it's not like you _planned_ this, you haven't even shaved your legs in a couple days- his blue eyes wide with arousal and surprise.

"Shit," he groans and takes his hands off you to go for his fly.

You roll him over as he kicks off his jeans and kiss him furiously, pressing your bare breasts against his chest and unconsciously grinding your hips down against his boner. Isaac moans and shakes, clutching your shoulders and then lets out a needy whimper when you grab his right hand and pin it above his head.

"Allison," he hisses, squirming beneath you helplessly, all long limbs and pale skin, swollen lips, just _beautiful_ , and for a second you feel ugly and unworthy, because you're not really sure what he sees in you, before you push it out of your mind. You can't think about that right now. You need to think about something else. With this in mind, you push off him to go get the condoms from your purse. You're not stupid, after all. You knew where this was going and you hate feeling unprepared.

Isaac sits up and gapes at you as you pull off your underwear (you haven't shaved down there either in years, but whatever) when you come back to sit on the bed. You feel your cheeks burn against your will under his gaze and tell yourself not to be such a virgin.

"Do you want to?" you ask, holding up the condom, the most generic brand you could find because you really had no idea what all the other stuff meant and it was weird enough buying them at the gas station shop anyway. It comes out less coy and more shy than you meant it to.

Isaac lunges at you in response and you both tumble down onto the bed, tangling one hand in his hair, the other pulling down his boxers as he rolls back on top of you.

It is, perhaps rather predictably, a total disaster. It hurts, a lot, and when Isaac smells the blood he freaks out and refuses to touch you again, his face white with miserable horror. You guess he didn't know that was normal, but at that point you're in too much pain to want to try again and you end up telling him shut up and hiding under the pillow because he won't stop apologizing. In retrospect it was probably pretty stupid to try it like that for the first time, terrified and running on adrenaline.

It doesn't have to be a big deal, you tell yourself practically as you sneak out in the morning, wincing at the ache between your legs. You're not living in some stupid romantic comedy. This is normal. You'll move past it.

And you do. It's still pretty humiliating, and definitely makes you think twice before trying again, but you know it's not the end of the world. You're hardly the first girl to have a horrible first time-in fact it's probably one of the most normal things about you. It's just the way things are, and you're not going to overreact and let it change things.

You have no problem adjusting to these new circumstances. Isaac, on the other hand, does.

He mopes around a lot and doesn't seem to want to touch you, which is weird, because usually that makes him feel better. Isaac has always had sad days, even before he became a werewolf. He'd come to school blank-faced and close-mouthed, and you'd just sit with him companionably and wait it out, because you have sad days sometimes too, days where your parents say the wrong thing at breakfast, where even getting out of bed seems like an insurmountable task, where it seems like there's no light at the end of the tunnel and you hate everything. After he became homeless you used to hold him and pet his hair, let him fall asleep in your lap when things got to be too much, and it always seemed to help.

Except now he doesn't seem to want your affection anymore, always shying away. He absolutely refuses to do anything with you besides kissing. You try to be patient and let him get over it in his own time. You get the impression that he's pretty sheltered, no friends before you, no family besides his dad-he probably thought sex was like it was in porn. That's got to be an unpleasant wake-up call.

But after a week you start to panic. What if he doesn't want you anymore? It's not like he would ever outright tell you. What if he's gay? You try to awkwardly bring it up again, because you'd rather try again and just grit your teeth and bear it than lose him completely, but Isaac quickly changes the subject and then blatantly lies about some French assignment to dissuade you from hanging out with him at the warehouse after he gets off work.

He won't talk to you about it and everything's awkward, and instead of getting better it only gets more and more uncomfortable, until finally you can't stand it anymore and do the only thing you can think of. You talk to Lydia.

"You're going to have to be a lot more specific than that," Lydia says practically, making it even more awkward by the fact that she doesn't seem to realize how awkward this whole thing really is. "But it sounds like your main problem is lack of lubrication. Please tell me you at least did some foreplay first."

You gape at her blasé attitude and the fact that she didn't even attempt to keep her voice down. You're sitting on the benches outside for lunch and there aren't many people in the area because it's still a little chilly, but _still_. Doesn't she realize how incredibly _private_ this is? You're talking about your developing sex life for God's sake!

"I...what do you mean by foreplay?" you ask, folding your arms over your chest uncomfortably. Didn't that just mean kissing?

Lydia gives you an incredulous look. "Fingering? He didn't just shove it in, did he? Because that is definitely not going to be pleasant."

Fingering? Why would you do that? You weren't two horny kids at some house party who were too lazy or drunk to find an empty room. You'd had a room all to yourselves. Lydia made it sound like it was the same as stretching before exercising, but that doesn't make any sense, because there's no way everyone does that before sex.

Lydia sighs and leans forward on her forearms to look at you pityingly. "Look," she says, looking disappointed in your lack of sexual knowledge. "Go buy some lube. Condom lube is terrib-you were using a condom right?"

"Yes," you says irritably, feeling your cheeks flame, because you may be inexperienced but you're not _stupid_.

"Good," Lydia continues. "Lube. Use it. Make him finger you. Doggy-style is the best if you want to get off, but there's always clitoral stimulation. Please tell me you're not one of those girls who doesn't masturbate."

You gape at her, because how can she be so matter-of-fact about this, and also because you'd always assumed Lydia was one of those girls who pretended she didn't masturbate.

"I-" you choke, feeling hot and uncomfortable. "No, I-"

"Good," Lydia repeats breezily. "Then just show him what you do to yourself. Boys are slow and stupid, so it'll take a while, but just remember not to let him think he can just roll over and go to sleep after he gets off. If he's getting off then you have to too."

You have no idea how to respond to her very candid advice, most of which makes you very uncomfortable. You'd sort of thought Lydia would laugh you off and make some comment about you getting used to sex after the first couple times, not give you _graphic sex advice_.

"Any other questions?" Lydia asks you expectantly, not seeming to understand at all how inappropriate her advice is. "If Isaac is even halfway decent he'll go down on you first, but he seems more like the selfish type, so I wouldn't count on that unless yo-"

You've never been as glad to hear the bell ring in your life.

You're not particularly enthused about Lydia's advice. You definitely don't want to try it doggy-style, it seems kind of demeaning, to be honest. The idea of him going down on you just seems kind of gross. You have no idea why anyone would want to put their mouth there and it's _not_ some internalized-misogyny thing. There is no way you would ever do that to him either. Even thinking about trying to show him how you get yourself off makes you feel humiliated and awkward (why would Lydia ever think that you'd want to _masturbate in front of him_?) But you have to admit that Lydia knows a lot more about sex than you do and the part about the lube and fingering seems sound. You can do that at the very least.

"I want to try again," you tell Isaac baldly on Friday afternoon after you pick him up from work. You feel a little mean about waiting until after he's in your car so he can't escape as easily, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Isaac gives you an incredulous look " _Why_?" he asks, looking like you just suggested jumping off a cliff just to see what happens.

"I know what the problem was," you tell him confidently, and try not to let on how embarrassing this is, even though he can probably tell anyway. "This time will be better."

Isaac doesn't say anything and when you glance away from road you see him staring down at your dashboard miserably.

You feel your heart clench. "Do you really not want to?" you ask him, hating how hurt you sound.

"No, I just," Isaac says, turning to look at you for a second before looking out his window. "I _hurt_ you," he mutters quietly.

You want to tell him that that's not true, that he didn't, but you can't, because he _did_ hurt you. Not on purpose, but you don't think telling him that would help either.

"It's normal, for girls," you say awkwardly, turning back to look at the road, feeling your cheeks heat up. You hate that he doesn't already know this, that you have to tell him this.

"Then why would you ever want to..." Isaac says after a pause. "I don't understand. We don't have to...we could just...not."

Don't be so naïve, you think, but don't say, because laughing at him is not going to make this situation any better.

"Practice makes perfect," you tell him, looking ahead at the road with purpose. "It'll be better this time. I think we should try again."

"Okay," Isaac says quietly, but he doesn't really sound happy about it.

It is better. It's still pretty uncomfortable, but the lube helps it go easier than last time. Isaac is a lot more careful with you too, and the fact that he doesn't take very long to come is also a plus. You have no idea why everyone talks about how important it is for guys to have stamina. You don't think you would like if he lasted a long time.

It doesn't really do much for you-you have no desire to take Lydia's advice and show him how to get you off afterward-but you like the way Isaac clutches at you desperately and moans quietly into your hair. He doesn't make much noise, but the noises he does make make you feel warm and wanted, and when he comes he gasps out your name, and you like that too.

He's trembling when he rolls off you, flushed alarmingly far down his chest, and you grin at how affected he is, rolling onto your stomach carefully to snuggle into him. You feel weird and slick between your thighs from the lube and it aches a bit, but it's much better than last time.

"Did-Did you-?" Isaac asks hopefully, chest still heaving.

"No," you say, a little bemused by how he thinks you might've come without him even noticing. "Don't worry about it. It's harder for women."

Isaac nods shortly, and then seems to notice he's naked and quickly pulls the covers up to his waist. You feel like you should point out he's still wearing the condom, but that seems awkward and you've kind of had enough of that for one day. You wrap an arm around his waist happily, relieved that this worked out.

"Told you," you tell him smugly, kissing his shoulder lightly.

Isaac just grumbles and buries his head in your shoulder. You stroke his hair for a bit in silence, enjoying the afterglow, but when you try and bring up the fact you should probably both shower Isaac doesn't respond. You guess the thing about guys falling asleep right after sex is true. You're not tired at all, but you stay as long as you can, feeling warm and pleased about your success. You leave at nine so your parents won't start worrying, but Isaac doesn't stir, even when you try and shake him awake to let him know you're leaving. He must be really worn out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually really enjoy writing Allison being extremely sheltered. It's not something you see often in fic and it's interesting to explore how her childhood affects her views on relationships and sex. Anyway, I finished this fic now, so I'll be updating once a week. Yay! Please comment!


	8. I've got nothing left to prove

They went after Isaac?” Stiles says, looking confused. “To get to Derek, you mean?”

“That's what I thought at first, but Gerard's the school principal,” you reply, tapping your fingers against the wooden table nervously. “He has to have noticed that Isaac doesn't hang around Erica and Boyd anymore. No, I think...I think it was my parents. They're getting impatient.”

“Well, that's just great,” Stiles says after a pause, paling visibly. “Just what we need.”

“Is he okay?” Scott asks worriedly, which is weird because you were under the impression that he didn't think much of Isaac.

“He's fine,” you say shortly, glancing around the Starbuck's to make sure no one's watching you. You're at the far back table in the crowded downtown Beacon Hills Starbuck's (one of them anyway.) You wish you could have met in the woods again, but apparently Scott has to go to work soon and this is the most convenient place for him to meet. “We're just going to have to be more careful.”

You don't mention you running over the hunter in your car. You found out from your parents' conversation the following night that he survived and will be in the hospital a while, but you're safe because if he'd seen you you'd know by now. It has no bearing on this conversation.

“Did you talk to Derek?” you ask them when they don't say anything else, just look contemplative.

Scott winces. “Yeah,” he says, looking disgruntled. “I tried. He didn't tell me anything-”

“Surprise, surprise,” Stiles interjects.

“- he just keeps trying to get me to join his pack. He says that that's the only way to stop Gerard.”

“You're _not_ joining him,” Stiles says flatly, only a split-second before you open your mouth to say the same thing. “After all the shit he's pulled? There's no way we could ever trust him.”

“I know that,” Scott says irritably, taking a sip of his hot chocolate. You find it oddly adorable that he doesn't drink coffee. Unlike Stiles, who does, and just really, really should not. “But he could be right. We might have to work together.”

For a second you struggle with your hatred of Derek and your knowledge that Scott might be right. Maybe it could work, but you just don't want Derek near Isaac. That's not negotiable.

“Just try and keep tabs on what he's doing?” you offer, without much confidence. “You're going to have to be the go-between.”

To your surprise, Scott lets out a snort of laughter. “Sorry,” he says when you give him a confused look. “It's just...he _really_ doesn't like you.”

You smirk in triumph, because Derek Hale not liking you really is something you're proud of. “The feeling's mutual, I assure you,” you tell him, finishing your cappuccino and sliding out of your seat. “I'll text you if I find anything else out.”

You pick up Isaac after work, get dinner, and spend the next half an hour making out in his sleeping bag at the abandoned warehouse, but you don't have sex. Isaac doesn't seem to have much of a libido, which is somewhat of a relief because you were sort of worried that once you started having sex he'd want to have it all the time, and you definitely wouldn't like that. Instead he mostly lets you initiate everything, and maybe that should give you pause, but you're too relieved to question it. You have so much to worry about outside your relationship with Isaac that it's nice to have something safe and easy to take comfort in.

And it's lucky that you have something like that, because your life is about to get even more stressful.

 

* * *

 

It starts, unsurprisingly, with Derek Hale.

You, Lydia, and Isaac are walking back to your cars after seeing Sucker Punch late Friday night at the end of April, in the middle of an involved discussion about what exactly the movie was about, when Isaac stops mid-sentence and goes stiff. A second later, Derek, Boyd, and Erica step out from behind an SUV.

You freeze in your tracks, heart leaping in your chest, because here we go again, and you're unarmed this time. If Derek wants to take revenge there's not going to be much you can do about it.

“Having fun?” Derek asks sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest smugly.

“What do you want?” you say coldly, fists clenched at your sides. “You didn't get enough last time?”

“Somehow I don't think it's going to go that way,” Derek says with a smirk, because he must know that you can't be armed. “I hear the hunters came after you,” he says, looking over Isaac carefully.

“Like you care,” you hiss furiously, because how dare he speak to Isaac after what happened last time. Isaac says nothing.

For a second Derek actually looks confused, like he doesn't understand your hostile reaction, before he scowls. “I let you off easy last time, but I don't have time for your pettiness right now. We have a common enemy and you have information I need.”

It's a threat, you know it's a threat, but you're too stunned by his dismissal of your _completely justifiable_ hatred of him to register it fully. Pettiness? He thinks you're being _petty_ when the last time you saw him he tried to bite you and beat Isaac bloody? You're so angry that you don't know what to say for a second, and it's probably a good thing you don't have a gun on you because you're not sure what you might do.

“We may have a common enemy,” you say finally, shoulders shaking with rage, and you can tell Erica and Boyd are weirded out by it by the way they look at you disbelievingly. “But in this case the enemy of my enemy is _not_ my friend. You can go to hell.”

Derek looks shocked for a second, but his expression quickly morphs into fury. He takes a step forward and Isaac jerks next to you, but you hold your ground. No one is paying attention to you right now, but there are other people coming out of the theater and walking to their cars. He can't try anything here. One scream and they'll hear.

“Listen to me, you _stupid_ little girl,” Derek starts angrily, his eyes glowing red. “If you think for one second-”

“Excuse me,” Lydia says, and you turn to her automatically to see her trademark disdainful expression as she eyes Derek dubiously. “I hate to break-up this lovely chat, but how old are you? 35? You don't think this whole collecting teenagers thing isn't even the tiniest bit creepy?” she finishes waving her hand in the direction of Erica and Boyd.

Derek looks like he doesn't know quite what to say.

“What are you _talking_ about?” Erica says, looking at Lydia in confusion.

“Honey, if you're trying to ask for our help then menacing us in a dark parking lot is _so_ not the way to go,” Lydia tells Derek candidly, putting a hand of her hip and cocking it out. “And seriously, _what_ is up with your teenage minions? You do realize how gross this looks, don't you? I literally just met you five seconds ago and already I feel in desperate need of a shower.”

“Excuse me?” Erica growls defensively, while Boyd and Derek are still stunned into silence by what Lydia's implying. “What the hell is that suppo-”

“Sweetheart, you're in a cult,” Lydia says, giving her a dismissive glance. “Look at what you're wearing for God's sake. Leather jackets are so '90s. Get help.”

“Who the hell do you think you ar-” Derek starts angrily, but Lydia expertly cuts him off before he can finish.

“No, we're done talking to you right now,” Lydia says, taking out her phone in a clear threat to call 911. “You're clearly unable to have a productive conversation about our mutual problem, so I suggest you talk to Scott instead as it appears he's the only one with the patience to deal with you.”

“You think we _want_ to work with you?” Boyd says, looking at Lydia in annoyance, like he thinks she's being unbelievably overdramatic. “We don't. But unless you want t-”

“Yes, I just wanted to report what looks like a mugging in the theater parking lot,” Lydia says holding her phone up to her ear and ignoring Boyd completely. “There's three people in leather jackets, it looks like they're threatening these teenagers that just came out of a movie...No, I don't think so.” She smiles at Derek sweetly and makes a shooing motion in his direction. You can't believe her guts, and by the way Isaac, Erica, and Boyd are gaping at her they're in the same boat. “No, no yet, but they're not letting them leave.”

“Fine,” Derek growls out furiously. “You win this time.”

And he, Erica, and Boyd slink back into the shadows and out of the parking lot.

“'You win this time?'” Lydia says mockingly, far too soon to be out of hearing range, and hangs up her phone. “What is he, a Batman villain?”

“You shouldn't have done that,” you tell her quietly, heart still pounding in your chest. “You're on his radar now.”

“Please, he can't be worse than his uncle,” Lydia says, rolling her eyes, but you can't tell if it's an act or not. Surely she can't be dismissing Derek completely?

You're on the fence about Peter being worse. From the little you saw of him Peter was completely unapologetic about his desire for power and lack of morals. Derek, despite all evidence to the contrary, actually seems to believe that he's doing the right thing. That's far more dangerous.

“Don't worry about him,” you tell Isaac after you part ways and take him back to the warehouse. He was very quiet all the way back and you don't want him going to bed worried about Derek coming after him. “He knows he won't get anything from us now.”

“Yeah, I know,” Isaac says, shrugging. He doesn't sound that confident about it, though.

You step closer to him and wrap your arms around his waist, leaning into his space. “Can I come in?” you ask coyly, because you have a fool-proof plan to cheer him up and it involves the condoms and travel-sized lube in your purse.

Isaac scoffs and rolls his eyes, as if to say _what a stupid question_ and drags you inside.

You ride him this time, which is pretty embarrassing initially, except Isaac seems way more embarrassed about it than you, which stops you from being embarrassed, because you like that way more than you should, because you're weird. Your thighs burn from exertion and you feel sort of ridiculous, but the way Isaac whimpers and squirms under you makes it all worth it. You can make him swear under his breath and arch his back when you clench your muscles around him, and you especially like the way he clutches your hips with his hands and stares at the slight bounce of your boobs like he can't believe this is actually happening to him. His hips jerk uncontrollably when he comes and you know guys' orgasm faces are supposed to be funny or gross, but Isaac always looks great when he tosses his head to the side and screws up his expression, moaning quietly.

“Oh, shit,” Isaac groans, sagging back down on his sleeping bag. He's flushed all the way down to his belly-button and you grin and roll off beside him on your back, feeling your heart pound furiously in your chest. God, that's a workout. You wonder how many calories you burned. You should do this more often.

“Alright there?” you ask when Isaac doesn't move, smirking at the evidence of what you can do to him.

Isaac grumbles incoherently, not even bothering to open his eyes and you turn on your side to nip at his neck, something hot and pleased purring in your chest when he automatically tilts up his chin for more. You feel magnanimous, so you get rid of the condom for him even though you always feel kind of weird touching his dick, and maneuver both of you under the sleeping bag.

Isaac is yours, you think possessively as Isaac snores against your shoulder, arm curled around your waist. Derek can't have him.

It's probably a little creepy, the way you feel about him. Acknowledging that this is possibly not the healthiest relationship ever makes you feel better, but it probably doesn't actually help. You're not in love; you're seventeen, you don't even know what love is. You think you could live without him. If he went somewhere else and was happy...you'd be sad, but you could weather that. But if he died...if he died you're not sure you could survive that. Going back to the way things were before Isaac...what would be the point?

But whatever. Your parents are werewolf hunters. You never were going to be normal.

And maybe you shouldn't over-complicate it. You like Isaac and he likes you. You spend a ridiculous amount of time with him and haven't gotten sick of him yet. You've seen him naked, sleep with him regularly, even if it still doesn't really do anything for you. Or, well, it sort of does. You don't, like, get off or anything, but you still like the feeling of Isaac inside of you, his hands on your naked skin. Best is knowing how good you make him feel, watching and hearing him fall apart, all because of you. Isaac is weirdly shy about sex, in a way he never was about making out or seeing your boobs for the first time, and he still never initiates anything between you, so you like getting him off, making him come for you, especially when he gets so overwhelmed he makes noises and moans your name.

It's addicting, that feeling. You get ravenous for it sometimes, ravenous for him. Sitting in class while the teacher drones on about world history, you think of the way Isaac bites his lip when you ride him, buries his face in your neck and trembles afterward. The way he looks at you when he's on top, dazed and almost disbelieving, like he's not sure you're really there.

You're too horny to think straight by the time the bell rings and because you're apparently a stupid hormonal teenager now, you see no problem with dragging Isaac into the backseat with you once you find a secluded backroad by the forest preserve.

“A-Allison,” Isaac stutters as you pull off your shirt and straddle his lap, eyes wide and surprised. “Wha- _here_?!”

“Yes, here,” you say impatiently, kissing him and pushing up his shirt futilely because he's not lifting his arms so you can pulls it off.

“Uh, that's-” Isaac groans, kissing you back and sliding his hands up your back and fingering the clasp of your bra hesitantly. “Are...are you sure?”

You give up on his shirt and go for his belt instead, imagining getting his dick out and just sinking down on him right there. You think you'd like pressing him against the seat, the way his hands would scrabble at your waist and how he'd whimper against your neck when you squeezed around him.

“Shit,” Isaac groans, grabbing your waist and pulling you down to the seat. He kisses you furiously, squeezing your boobs under your bra, boner sliding against your inner thigh, but when he pulls back he looks down seriously at you and says. “Are you sure? We don't have to.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” you say, rolling your eyes and pull the condom out of your pocket.

Isaac always says stuff like this. You really want to do this? Are you sure? It's okay if you don't want to. We don't have to. You don't understand why, because you think it's pretty clear that both of you like having sex. And _you're_ the one who always initiates it. You have no idea where he gets the idea that you're not really into it. If anything, _you_ should be the one asking _him_ those questions. Isaac is the one shy and hesitant about sex and sometimes afterward he gets weird and quiet and hides his face in your neck. You should talk to him about it, you know that, but part of you is afraid of the answer.

Instead you respond by taking what you want, and you end up holding onto the door for leverage while he fucks you, watching Isaac slowly unravel until he grunts out his orgasm and collapses on top of you.

“Shit, sorry,” Isaac mumbles, weakly trying to get off you. You roll him off to the side carefully-the backseat of your car was really not made for this-so that you're side by side, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him close.

“Look at the windows,” you say, childishly amused at their fogged-up state.

Isaac just grumbles and buries his face in your boobs, pulling you close. He falls asleep like that, or pretends to anyway, which he does sometimes for reasons you don't understand, leaving you to try not to shift antsily so as not to disturb him. It's hard because you're still so keyed up from earlier. Getting him in you took the edge off, but you'll probably masturbate when you get home tonight to finish the job. You're probably going to have rug-burn in awkward places tomorrow, but totally worth it. Car sex is awesome. When Isaac wakes up you tell him this, but he seems too preoccupied with your boobs to reply because he's incredibly male like that.

Going home is weird, because for some reason you feel like your parents will be able to tell that you just had sex in your car just by looking at you. They don't of course, but you still feel awkward in a way you don't when you have sex with Isaac in a motel or in the warehouse. It's a relief when they barely pay attention to you at dinner and let you excuse yourself early so you can go upstairs and take a shower.

 

* * *

 

You have to go to your therapist the next day after school and annoyingly enough she seems to notice that you're happier. You end up telling her about Lydia, just some crap about finally having made a friend, but then she presses and you _actually_ tell her about Lydia, which is...weird.

“It sounds like you have a complicated relationship with her,” your therapist says neutrally. She's a heavy woman probably only a couple years older than your mother with gray flyaway hair and a mouth that seems to be perpetually smiling. She makes a very unassuming figure sitting in the armchair across from you with a clipboard on her lap, but her eyes have a piercing quality that is more than a little unnerving. You always feel, perhaps irrationally, that she knows what you're hiding and is just lying in wait for you to slip up.

“I guess,” you say uncomfortably, aware you'd spent the last five minutes complaining about her. “I don't know. It's not a big deal.”

It's not that complicated. You sort of disapprove of each other's life choices, but she really is your friend now. It's weird and doesn't really make sense, but questioning it seems like looking a gift horse in the mouth, so whatever. You found her personality kind of abrasive in the beginning, and it's still abrasive, but you guess you just got used to it? She's your friend now and it doesn't look like that's going to be changing anytime soon. It may not be the most healthy friendship, but that is pretty much par for the course for your life, and you're definitely not telling her that.

“Have you talked to her about any of this?” she asks next and you give her an incredulous look because _God_ , no, doesn't she understand how real-people relationships work?

“Communication is important, Allison,” she says, and wow, she really does sound like a self-help book. Or one of those stupid daytime talk shows your friends' moms used to watch. “Just because something may seem obvious to you doesn't mean it's obvious to everyone else. Having open channels of communication is important for any relationship in your life.”

“Okay,” you say, trying not to sound dubious, and send a surreptitious glance at the clock.

 

* * *

 

The next morning you sit down on the usual bench outside of school next to Lydia, who doesn't even bother to look up from her phone as she greets you.

“Hey,” you reply, and look around the school yard until you spot Isaac sitting against the wall outside the school door, flipping through his French book, no doubt preparing for the vocab quiz you have today. It's finally gotten warm out and most of the student body seems to prefer sitting outside in the sun until the first bell rings. You look at him until he senses someone watching him and looks up at you, smiling hesitantly when you wave.

“Do you want to go to a party in Deer Valley this weekend?” Lydia asks you all of the sudden. “A friend from middle school invited me and it sounds fun. Well, for a given value of fun. Deer Valley is no Beacon Hills, but I'm sure it will be adequate.”

“Sure, why not,” you say, amused at her description. It would be nice to get out of this town for once. And no one's going to know you at a Deer Valley high school party.

“Good,” Lydia says satisfactorily, smiling at you cheerily.

Isaac looks skeptical when you turn to look at him to see if he was paying attention, but you just mouth “Relax” at him, because it'll be fine, he'll see.

See, you don't need to talk everything to death. Lydia gets your weird friendship dynamic; she doesn't need you to _explain_ it to her. You're communicating perfectly well with Lydia and Isaac. Everything is fine between the three of you and you're not going to rock the boat. Your relationships are perfectly stable.

Which is good because you're going to need them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the awkwardness continues! Please comment!


	9. Cause I've got nothing left to lose

“Oh, my God, are we done yet?” Isaac complains from the dressing room couch, slumping against the wall childishly.

“You didn't have to come,” Lydia responds tartly without sparing him a glance. “Turn around, let me see how they fit on your hips.”

You do, dutifully, feeling more than a little dumb. Lydia had finally gotten sick of your worn flare jeans and declared that if you insisted on wearing pants all the time then you had to get some skinny jeans. The ones you're wearing are nice, you suppose, but you thought that about the last three pairs, which Lydia had deemed unacceptable for seemingly minor offenses.

“I like them,” Lydia says, thankfully. “They fit well.”

“Yup, they're great, can we go now?”

“Try on that shirt now with them,” Lydia orders, completely ignoring Isaac.

“I don't need anymore shirts,” you complain, but go back into the dressing room to try it on anyway.

“You need an entire wardrobe, but one thing at a time,” Lydia responds as you pull off your t-shirt and cardigan, scowling at the pudge of fat on your stomach. You've started running again now that it's warmer out, but it still hasn't gone away. Which makes sense because you've only lost a pound over the last couple weeks, but still.

“Are we seriously doing this?” Isaac complains.

“Yes, because her clothes are terrible. Just be glad I haven't started on _your_ clothes.”

“Isaac needs new shirts,” you call out as you pull the red tanktop over you head and straighten it out. It's a bit longer than you like, but apparently that's the style now. You like the loose quality and tiny henna design inspired patterns, though it is a bit lowcut. You'd probably have to wear a cami under it.

“I don't need new shirts,” Isaac says, even though you're pretty sure he only has four that he keeps alternating between. “And if I did I wouldn't buy them with you.”

“It's okay,” you say awkwardly, coming out of the dressing room and resisting the urge to fold your hands over your chest uncomfortably. “It's a bit too lowcut, I think.”

“What are you talking about, it looks great,” Lydia says, pulling it down so that even _more_ of you bra shows. “You just need a better bra to wear with it.”

“You should buy that shirt,” Isaac tells you, perking up for the first time in nearly an hour.

“Grow up,” Lydia says disdainfully, while you roll your eyes. “But, yes, that's definitely a buy. Are you sure you don't want to look at the dresses?”

“No, I'm good,” you say, to Isaac's visible relief. You actually prefer dresses. They're a lot more comfortable than skinny jeans, but they're just not practical when you live in a crazy town like Beacon Hills. Who knows what could happen at any moment?

You buy the jeans and shirt, and eat crappy Mexican food in the mall food court before you head to the library to do some homework. Then Lydia makes you come to her house to get ready for the party in Deer Valley, and Isaac actually falls asleep on her bed out of sheer boredom while she does your make-up.

 

* * *

 

Deer Valley is about the same size as Beacon Hills, but it's a lot more middle class. The houses are averaged sized instead of gated mansions, and they all have that same suburban cookie-cutter look that makes them hard to tell apart. The house the party is at is a little white house on the corner of the block with practically no backyard and ugly brown carpet everywhere except the kitchen and the bathrooms, but the people are welcoming and not at all cliquey. It's a lot more low-key than you imagine parties in Beacon Hills are, and you and Isaac even manage to have fun by telling stories about how terrible Beacon Hills High is, which the Deer Valley kids love, considering their lacrosse rivalry. You have a beer and two shots of vodka which is just about enough to get you drunk and you collapse on Isaac's lap on the couch and giggle at the people dancing in the middle of the living room.

“Wanna dance?” you ask Isaac, nuzzling into his neck happily.

“Not at all,” he says dryly, wrapping an arm around your waist and adjusting you so that you're not almost kicking the girl sitting next to him.

“Laaaame,” you say, punching him weakly in the shoulder. “C'mon, don't be shy.”

“Can you even stand up straight?”

“Maybe,” you say, yawning and glancing around the room. “Hey, where's Lydia?”

Earlier she'd been in an involved conversation with her friend from elementary school, a shockingly pretty girl with terrifyingly red lipstick whose name you've already forgotten, but now that girl is making out with a black boy with a cool pattern shaved into his hair in the kitchen and Lydia is nowhere to be found.

“Let's just say she's busy,” Isaac says with a smirk and throws a glance upward.

“What?” you say in confusion.

“I saw her go upstairs with a guy,” Isaac tells you, adjusting you again for no other reason than to put his hands on your ass. “Let's just say they won't be coming down for a while.”

Isaac clearly means it to be funny, but you frown and shift uneasily. Lydia didn't even know anyone at this party except her old friend right? Why would she go upstairs with some random guy she didn't even know? You know she's kind of a slut, but wouldn't she have at least told you where she was going?

“He didn't...you know,” you say worriedly to Isaac. “I mean, you saw them go up there, right? How drunk was she?”

Isaac looks confused for a second, like the thought never even crossed his mind. “No, definitely not...it wasn't like that,” he says, frowning and looking uncomfortable. “She definitely knows what she's doing.”

“Okay, good,” you say, relieved, but then you register the present tense. “Wait, are you _listening_ to them?” you say, louder than you should.

“Huh?” the girl sitting next to Isaac says drunkenly. “Listening to who?”

“No, I'm not, I just-” Isaac says, going beet red. “I can't help it!”

“Oh, really?” you say, more amused than judgmental, because Isaac always looks adorable when he's embarrassed. “Are you getting off on this?”

“No, Allison, don't-” he hisses when you drop your hand down between you to try and check, which seems like a completely reasonable thing to do at the time.

“You need a distraction,” you declare, straddling him and causing the girl next to you to grunt in annoyance. “I'll distract you.”

“Uh,” Isaac says, leaning back against the couch as far as he can go. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

“It's a great idea,” you say, leaning in and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Allison!” he hisses, grabbing your waist to hold you off. “We're in _public_.”

“Doesn't seem to bother half the people in this room,” you say, gesturing clumsily at another couple making out in an armchair next to the coffee table. “Don't be such a prude all the time.”

“I'm not a prude,” Isaac protests, scrunching his face up.

“Yes, you are,” you tell him firmly, lying down against his shoulder and poking him in the chest. “You're weird. You're weird about sex.”

“Wow, okay, can we not talk about this right now?” Isaac mutters uncomfortably.

“I like sex,” you tell him guilelessly, “but you'r-”

“No, you don't,” Isaac says quietly.

“What?” you say, frowning and pulling back to look at him in confusion. Maybe you heard him wrong.

“Nothing,” Isaac says tiredly, and then his eyes widen. “Um, Allison, your shirt's kind of-”

“What?”

Kind of showing way more of your bra than is probably necessary.

Instead of adjusting it, you look up at him and smirk. “You like my shirt,” you say, leaning in closer so that he really cannot avoid looking at your boobs.

“I do,” Isaac admits after a pause, but reaches up to readjust it anyway. It's a surprisingly caring gesture and you're just about to screw it and crush your mouth against his when he suddenly goes rigid, eyes widening with horror.

“Oh, my God,” he hisses and claps his hands over his ears. “You have got to be kidding me?!”

“What's wrong?” you say, looking around for the source of the noise, but the pop music from the stereo is the same volume as ever and even the amount of chatter in the room seems to stable. Is someone blowing a dog whistle?

“No, no, no,” Isaac moans, forehead dropping down against your chest. “Talk to me about something. Anything!”

You start laughing as you realize exactly what is happening. “Wow, she's that loud, huh?”

“It's not funny,” Isaac says, glaring up at you balefully. “I am never going to be able to lo-mmfph!”

You kiss him furiously and take one of his hands and bring it up to your left breast. Isaac groans as you slowly rock your hips against his and then gives up on his prudish ways and slides his hands up the back of your shirt.

Lydia comes down half an hour later when the party's wound down and you're all crowded around the TV watching Iron Man, which is extremely funny while drunk. She looks perfectly composed and only sways a little when she sits down next to you on the ugly carpet with a satisfied smirk. Both you and Lydia are too drunk to drive and Isaac doesn't have his license (not that Lydia would let him drive her new car anyway) so you end up sleeping on the living room floor with half the rest of the people at the party and then stumble out in the morning before Lydia's friend's parents come home. Isaac has a hard time looking Lydia in the eye on the way back, but Lydia either doesn't notice or doesn't care, just seems incredibly pleased with herself. It wasn't a life-changing party-you don't even remember any of the names of the people you met-but it was a nice break from your usual stressful existence. It was nice to pretend to be a normal teenager, even if it was only for one night.

 

* * *

 

“Look, we're running out of time,” you tell Scott the next time you meet, in an unused science classroom this time, while Stiles tries to unsuccessfully flirt with Lydia while they guard the door. “I don't know how much longer we can keep this up. He's bound to notice sometime that he's not taking the right pills.”

“What else are we supposed to do?” Scott asks, looking frustrated, and it is a really good question. “Our plan hinges on him going after Derek, but he hasn't really made much of an effort to do that yet.”

“Oh, then I must have imagined getting shot in the chest,” Isaac says in annoyance, leaning against the black lab tables and glaring at Scott. You'd really rather him not be here because of the animosity between him and Scott, but Isaac had insisted.

“That's not what I meant,” Scott says, though he looks a little guilty anyway. “I just...he has to make a move _sometime_ , right?”

“Hey, don't look at me, I barely know the guy,” you say, holding up your hands when Scott eyes you expectantly. “But he's a lot more cautious than we first thought. I don't think he's going to make a move until he finds the perfect opportunity.”

“But he's dying-he doesn't have all the time in the wor-”

“Then we give him an opportunity,” Isaac says.

Both you and Scott turn to look at Isaac, frowning. “What do you mean?” Scott says.

“We give him what he wants,” Isaac says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Or we make it look like it's something he wants.”

“You mean, Derek?” you ask slowly, because you'd never have thought that Isaac would ever betray Derek.

“You mean a trap,” Scott says, looking at Isaac speculatively.

“Yeah,” Isaac says, looking a little surprised at Scott's attention.

“But we'll need bait,” Scott says. He seems a little taken aback at Isaac's insight, which you suppose makes sense considering they've had so little interaction so far.

“Yeah, well,” Isaac scoffs, shrugging his shoulders and looking a little rueful.

“What?” you say when you catch on a second later. “ _No_! You are not going to be bait.”

“Who else is there?” Isaac says, slumping his shoulders a little and looking resigned. “He has to have guessed that I'm not with Derek anymore. We can use that.”

“And get him to, what, follow you into a trap? Do you know how many ways that could go wrong? What if he just decides to kill you instead?” you say, angry that he would even consider such a suicidal plan.

“He won't,” Scott says quietly, watching the both of you carefully. “He's too smart for that.”

“This is a terrible idea,” you say, starting to feel sick as you realize you're the only person in this room against this plan. “You can't do this.”

You can't lose him. If he died during some stupid gambit to get your grandfather to finally make a move...

“What other choice do we have?” Isaac responds uncomfortably, looking across the classroom at the blackboard instead of at either you or Scott. “Just wait until he kills us all? He knows where we all live, Allison, everyone except for Derek. The second he decides to stop waiting...”

He'll go for Erica and Boyd, you realize. Probably try to torture Derek's location out of them. Might even go after Scott's mother to force Scott into action.

This can't be the only way, you think in horror, watching Isaac silently, but you're unable to come up with anything else.

“They'll be lots of other hunters with him, hunters that presumably aren't in on his plan,” Scott says to Isaac. “You'll have to be careful.”

“Oh, are you serious?” Isaac says angrily, glaring at him in disgust. “ _That's_ what you're worried about? You do realize that they're _murderers_ , don't you? They'll kill anyone like us, including _you_.”

“What, no, I mean you,” Scott says, looking bewildered. “I don't want you to get hurt.”

Isaac doesn't seem to know what to say to that, his expression suddenly shockingly vulnerable. Scott's earnestness seems to unnerve him and his eyes flit away after a second, embarrassed by Scott's sincerity.

“We'll talk about this later,” Isaac says to you, pushing off the table and making for the door like a coward. The back of his neck is red.

“I'm sorry,” Scott says quietly as you watch him go. “But in the absence of another plan...”

You didn't have to go along with it, you think furiously. You could have told him no.

“Do you really think it can work?” you ask, knowing what he'll say. But you just need to hear him say it.

“It will,” Scott says firmly. “We'll make sure of it. He's not going to get hurt, I promise you.”

His expression is so earnest that for a second you want to throw yourself into his arms, take shelter in him. It's an impulse you've felt before around Scott, and hated yourself for, but it's never been as strong as it is now. It's not fair that you feel this way around him. You barely know him. But there's just something about him that makes you feel safe and cared for.

Scott must see it in your face, because his own expression softens and he steps closer to you, taking your right hand between his own. “Hey,” he says, gently, shockingly close even though he's still more than a foot away. “Everything's going to be alright. We'll get through this.”

He has no idea what he's talking about, of course, but that knowledge doesn't seem to impede you from believing him. You nod shortly, your throat too tight to risk speaking and wish you could ask him to hold you without it being weird. Neither of you move for longer than is probably appropriate, and you know that this is getting weird, that this is probably crossing a line somewhere, but you don't want to be the first one to pull away.

The bell rings and Scott jolts a bit, seeming to come back to himself.

“I-sorry,” he says, letting go of your hand and taking a step back, cheeks heating up. “I, um, I didn't mean to-”

“It's okay,” you say, uninterested in his apology. If he apologizes even half as much to other people as he does to you it's still far too much. He's probably the kind of guy who apologizes to someone who bumps into him in the hallway. “I'll talk to you later, okay?”

You just barely see Scott nod, looking worried, before you head out into the crowded hallway, blinking furiously to prevent yourself from crying.

 

* * *

 

Isaac's mind is made up. He's tired of waiting around for Gerard to kill you all, and just wants to get it over with. Your attempts to convince him out of it are weak at best, because you really don't think there's another option either. You just tell yourself to be strong and resolve that when he does finally end up doing it you will be on the sidelines with Kate's sniper rifle to protect him. There is no other alternative. There is no way you're going to let him go out there by himself. Nothing's concrete yet, not the place or time or even the bare bones of the plan, but that part is non-negotiable.

You plan to meet with Scott and Stiles over the weekend to finalize the plan, but that never ends up happening because Gerard does end up making his move. It's just a move that no one could have ever predicted.

 

* * *

 

You're on your way down the stairs, already late to Lydia's for lunch, when you get the call. It's the third time she's called you in two minutes, and you roll your eyes, because seriously, she can't wait five minutes? Her obsession with punctuality is annoying, but you'd better answer it this time rather than ignoring it.

“Hey, sorry,” you say, holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you lock the front door behind you, waving distractedly at your mother in the kitchen, “I'm on my way now, so it'll be about fi-”

“Allison!” she sobs, sounding terrified. “Allison, please, don't get in the car, you can't get in the car!”

“What?” you say in confusion, shocked by the emotion in her voice. “Lydia, what's wro-”

“You can't get in the car, Allison, please,” Lydia begs, her voice full of fear. “Please, you have to promise me you won't get in your car, okay?”

“Why?” you ask, not moving from the front porch, not understanding why the concept of you driving is so obviously terrifying her. “Lydia, what's wrong? Why do you think-”

“You just can't, okay!” Lydia sobs. “Please, you can't! I know it sounds crazy, but I swear, if you get in that car you'll...you'll-”

“I'll what?”

“You'll die!” Lydia chokes out, the words sounding like they were torn out of her throat. “Please, I'm not crazy, you have to believe me! I know it doesn't make any sense, but I just _know_ , okay? Please, please, _please_ don't get in the car!”

You turn to look at your car in the driveway. It looks the same as it always does, and you wonder if Lydia's having some sort of psychotic episode or delusion. But you've seen enough movies to be stupid enough to ignore her warning.

“Lydia, how do you know I'll die?” you ask her, trying to sound as rational as possible. “I mean, do you think I'll get in an accident?”

“I don't know, I don't know,” Lydia sobs, breathing heavily on the other end of the line. “I just...I _know_. I can _feel it_. I don't how it will happen or when or why, but, _Allison_ , if you get in that car you will _die_.”

Her words ring in your ears for a second, and even though it doesn't make any sense you feel chilled down to your bones.

“Please,” she sobs desperately. “ _Please_ , you have to promise, you can't-”

“I...I won't, okay?” you say distractedly, mostly just to calm her down. “Lydia, I swear, I won't, just...”

Lydia just cries over the phone, and you turn to stare in bewilderment at your car. You approach it carefully, feeling slightly stupid as you examine it for...what? Exposed wires? You'd just gotten your oil changed a month ago-surely they would have noticed if something was wrong. It's a pretty new car, too. And how would Lydia know that there was something wrong with it anyway? You feel stupid just staring at it, wonder if you should open the door and pop the hood, but you're irrationally afraid that it might explode if you get inside it. Or maybe someone cut your brakes like in an episode of some serialized police show where the victim is murdered for the insurance money or because she cheated on her husband or stood up to the mob or just got on someone's bad sid-

_Gerard._

You don't dare move for a second, trying to convince yourself that you're being paranoid. Lydia can't possibly know if he'd done anything either way. But you live in a world where werewolves exist and your parents kill them. You'd be stupid not to consider the possibility.

You get down on your knees and lean down to look under your car. Everything looks normal, as far as you can tell, not being particularly familiar with what the undersides of cars look li-

There's a small black circular box attached to the front of your car. You're pretty sure that's not supposed to be there.

You sway dangerously when you stand, a loud ringing in your ears drowning out Lydia's sobs. She was right then. He was really trying to kill you. Was it a bomb? No, that was probably too obvious. He'd want to make it look like an accident. You look up at your house, almost expecting to see Gerard staring down at you from one of the second floor windows, but of course he's not. It still feels like he's watching you. You feel like you're going to be sick, right here next to your booby-trapped car.

“Lydia,” you say, voice strangely calm. “Pick me up _now_.”

 

* * *

 

Lydia's make-up is completely ruined, mascara running in tracks down her cheeks, when she pulls up in front of your driveway. You get in the passenger seat immediately and she speeds away faster than is probably necessary, arms shaking as she makes a turn.

“He sabotaged my car,” you tell her when she stops at a red light, still unable to believe it yourself. “He _sabotaged_ my _car_.”

“Who?” Lydia asks shakily, wiping her eyes, which only serves to smear her make-up more.

You let out an insane laugh. “Gerard! There was this box on the bottom of my car. He...he's trying to kill me!”

“A bomb?” Lydia whispers, turning to stare at you with teary eyes.

“I don't...I don't know,” you say, bring up your feet onto the seat and hugging your knees, imagining if she hadn't called. You'd have gotten inside and started your car like normal and-and you'd probably be dead right now. “How did you know?”

Lydia shakes her head quickly, looking distressed and keeps her eyes fixed on the road in front of her. “I don't...I don't know,” she whispers, face contorting with fear. “I just... I don't know. I don't know what's wrong with me.”

“I can't go back there,” you realize, clutching your knees tightly. “I can't, he'll, he'll kill me!”

“Why is he trying to kill you?” Lydia asks, pulling into her neighborhood. “Why would he _do_ that?”

“He knows,” you realize, heart pounding hard in your chest, you hands shaking uncontrollably. “He found out about...about everything.”

“How?” Lydia asks tearily, clutching the steering wheel so hard her knuckles are turning white.

It doesn't matter how. Maybe he noticed the pills he was taking. Maybe you weren't careful enough when you hung around Isaac or met with Scott. Maybe the hunter you hit with you car saw you after all. It doesn't matter. It's done and now he's coming for you.

You spend the rest of the day with Lydia trying to figure out what to do, but when your parents call about dinner, you make Lydia take you home even though she begs you not to go. You don't tell Isaac.

Gerard doesn't react when you sit down for dinner, just makes polite conversation about the new recipe he was thinking of trying out for dinner tomorrow, but when you check under your car again after dinner the box is gone. You guess you better not eat anything he makes tomorrow.

Gerard is waiting for you in the upstairs hallway when you go up to bed and you freeze in your tracks on the stairs, holding onto the railing to prevent your knees from buckling in fear.

“You got lucky this time, but you won't again,” he tells you calmly, a smug smile on his face, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket casually. “You understand that, right?”

“I'll _tell_ ,” you say, clutching the railing and trying not to show how much you fear him, even though it's probably all over your face.

“They'd never believe you,” he responds with a short, quiet laugh.

You hate that he's right, feeling your eyes well up with tears. Your parents would think you're a complete head-case, probably have you committed. You have no proof, for any of it, and trying to convince them that Gerard is trying to find Derek to become a werewolf himself would cause even more problems.

“Good night, Allison,” he says calmly, lips turning up in a self-satisfied smile. “Sleep well.”

You stand there long after he turns and heads into his room, shaking like a leaf. You're jolted out of your fear-spiral when you hear your dad yell something up to your mom from the basement about new light bulbs and practically run into your room, locking the door with trembling hands. You bury yourself under your covers and try not to have a total panic attack for about an hour until everything becomes kind of numb, though you don't dare emerge from your bed, not even to change into your pajamas. You know what you have to do now.

Gerard has to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, Gerard is so gross. That scene where he put his hands on her neck to figure out if she was lying, blechhhh. Anyway, many thanks to my awesome beta for looking over this! Please comment!


	10. See me bare my teeth for you

Gerard is done waiting. Two days after he tried to kill you you get a text from Scott saying that he approached his mother at the hospital and asked a lot of thinly veiled questions about Scott and his extracurricular activities, and both Erica and Boyd are absent from school. A day later they're declared officially missing. Scared for Isaac's safety, you convince Lydia to let Isaac stay at her grandmother's lake house in the next town over, just in case Gerard knows his usual routine. There is a lot of activity at your house, hunters (or contractors as your mother likes to tell you) come in and out of your house at all hours, and from what you've managed to overhear they are searching the entire town and surrounding woods for signs of Derek and his pack.

Then you come home one night after dropping Isaac off at work and the entire house is empty.

“Hello,” you call out hesitantly, walking through the living room, unnerved by the quiet house. “Is anyone here?”

No one replies. You search the bottom floor and then the top and then press your ear against the locked basement door for good measure. You don't know the pass code-even if you did your parents are the type of people who would change it every month-but you can't hear any movement or voices from below. They really are gone. You call Lydia immediately.

“It's time,” you say, grabbing the bag in your closet you've had ready for days and changing into your dark jacket and running shoes.

Lydia picks you up at the end of your driveway less than ten minutes later, pale and shaking, but she doesn't try to convince you out of what needs doing.

“What about Isaac?” she asks as you drive through the dark streets of Beacon Hills towards the railroad depot.

“He's at work until ten tonight,” you say, thankful that Isaac has to close on Thursdays.

“You don't want to pick him up? We could use a werewolf, couldn't we?” Lydia asks shakily, turning briefly to give you a terrified glance

“No, I want him to stay out of this,” you say. “It's better if I just deal with this myself.”

“Allison, I don't like this-”

Your phone rings and you hold your hand up immediately to silence her when you see that it's Scott.

“Scott?” you say, hoping he's not involved in whatever is going down at the train depot. “What's going on?”

“Where is Gerard?” he says angrily, and you jump a bit at his tone. You've never heard him so angry before. “Is he at your house? Do you know where he is?”

“No, I don't-” you say, taken aback. “Scott, what happened?”

“He came after my mother,” Scott says furiously. His voice is lower and you wonder if his eyes are glowing, if fangs are growing as he speaks. He sounds on the verge of violence. You'd never imagined him sounding like this. “He came after my _mother_. I-she's, I had to take her to the hospital.” Your mouth falls open in horror. What did he do? Why did he-how- “And he's going after Derek _now_ ,” Scott continues, voice shaking with suppressed emotion. “ _Do you know where he is_ ?”

“I-Derek lives at the railroad depot,” you say automatically, not even considering for a second ignoring his demand. “But Scott, my family is gone, I think they're all with him, you can't go there, they'll find out about y-”

“I don't have time to worry about that,” Scott says coldly. “This ends _now_.”

“Scott, wait, don't-” you say before he hangs up and his phone goes straight to voicemail when you call him back. He must have turned it off.

“Shit!” you say, cursing yourself for telling him where you were going. Why had you done that? “Lydia, drive faster. We don't have much time!”

“What's going on?” Lydia asks fearfully.

“I shouldn't have told him where we were going,” you say, gripping the fabric of your jeans in frustration, willing your body to stop shaking. You're so stupid, why would you think he would listen to reason when Gerard had _attacked his mother_. “Shit, Lydia, you missed the turn.”

Lydia doesn't respond, her eyes fixed on the road as she ignores the warnings of her GPS to turn right at the next intersection.

“Lydia,” you say, banging you palm against the dashboard in an attempt to get her attention. “Turn right here, we were supposed to turn on Elm.”

“I don't...it's...it's this way,” Lydia says, even as her GPS reroutes and tries to get her to turn around. Your phone rings-Isaac-but you ignore it.

“Lydia, the railroad depot is back there, this is too far,” you say, as she continues to drive further into the dark warehouse district.

“But...it's not,” Lydia says, looking at her hands on the steering wheel in front of her, as if she's upset at their betrayal. “Allison, that's not where we need to go, it's this way.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” you ask, starting to get angry now. What is she doing? Is this some ploy to keep you out of danger? “Lydia, stop the car!”

Lydia doesn't respond and you grab at the wheel to get her attention. “Lydia! Hey!”

“ _It's this way_ ,” she says through gritted teeth, not even taking her eyes off the road for a second to look at you.

You let go of her and look into her face clearly. Is this another...does she _know_?

“Do you _know_?” you ask her, watching the light from one of the few street lights in this part of town travel across her face and disappear into the back of the car.

“Yes,” Lydia says, biting her red lips in frustration. “It's here. I can _feel_ it.”

“How much further i-”

A gunshot rings out, and Lydia hits the brakes immediately, causing the both of you to pitch forward, only your seatbelt preventing you from hitting your head on the dashboard.

You both turn to look at each other in horror, before you scramble for your bag.

“Stay here,” you tell her, peering out of the car to the building next to you with the fire escape. Perfect. You thought you were going to have to use Kate's grappling hook and possibly kill yourself trying to climb the warehouse across from the railroad depot, so this option is far preferable. “Turn off the car, the lights, I'll be back soon.”

“Allison!” Lydia squeals, reaching forward to grab your arm before you can open the passenger door. She looks terrified. “Are you...are you sure about this?”

You don't have another choice. You both know this.

“Stay here,” you repeat, and grip her forearm in an effort to be comforting for a brief moment. “If anyone comes, just pretend you're lost, okay?”

“Allison-”

There's another gunshot, and you don't have time for what she has to say, so you jump out of the car and shut the door quietly before heading straight for the fire escape. You don't see any security cameras in the area, thankfully. You're glad for your extra weight when you jump up to pull the ladder down from the fire escape. It takes a couple tries, but when you finally get it down it's easy to climb up the three stories to the roof, the adrenaline pumping through your veins preventing you from tiring, even with your heavy bag. The gravel on the roof crunches under your feet as you walk quickly across the roof to the other side of the building, to where the gunshots came from. The building is taller than most of the other warehouses that surround it, so when you get to the other side you have a clear view of the scene below.

Leaning over the edge of the roof, you see what looks like the middle of a confrontation between Gerard and Derek. Gerard has four hunters with him, including your father, you realize with a dull pang, and they seem to have cornered Derek's pack in a dead end below you. To your horror, you realize that Isaac is one of the figures standing beside Derek, and by the way he's holding his side, he's been shot.

You drop to your knees beside your bag and unzip it with shaking hands, pulling out Kate's sniper rifle and loading in the bullets while part of you wonders if it's really you who's doing this. This cannot be Allison Argent. But there's no one else here. Just you.

“You might as well come quietly, Derek,” Gerard is saying, in that tone of voice that means he's trying to sound magnanimous. “It's over.”

“If you think I'm going down without a fight then you're even dumber than I thought,” Derek says, though he sounds pained. When you peek up over the side again, you can see that Boyd is barely being supported by Erica, who looks like she might start to cry at any second. Isaac is the closest to you and from this angle you can't see his face, but you know he can't look much better. Is this why he called you? So stupid, why didn't you pick up?

You slowly raise the gun and position it where you want it, finding Gerard in your sights. Your entire body shakes as you watch him smile smugly in close-up through the scope. You jerk back and try to swallow back the wave of nausea that passes through you. Are you really doing this? You have to, you know you have to, but your hands won't stop shaking. You will never be able to take this back. This will haunt you for the rest of your life.

Movement catches your eye as your father threatens Derek and his pack with death if they do not comply with their demands. Something is glowing on the street parallel to the one the confrontation is taking place on and you go completely still with shock as you watch Scott, eyes glowing yellow, head for the fight. You can't see his expression, but even his body language while he runs screams fury. He hasn't reached them yet, but the second he turns the corner he'll be in their sight and then there's no going back. You can't let them find out about him. This has to end.

You duck back down to the scope to lock onto Gerard again. He's moved up a foot, but it's an easy adjustment. But you have to be absolutely sure. It's likely you will only get one shot. You've never shot this gun before, or anything like it, but you suddenly don't worry about that anymore. You feel very calm. Your body has stopped shaking, is now still and ready.

“Kill the betas,” you hear Gerard order the other hunters suddenly, his face aglow with savage triumph. Scott has to be rounding the corner any second, now, you don't have any time, you have to protect him. “First these three, and then we'll go pay a visit to Sc-”

You pull the trigger.

You don't miss.

 

* * *

 

Gerard drops so quickly you almost miss it. The crack of the gunshot ringing in your ears, you don't move for a second, looking down at his prone form because some part of you still expects him to get up. It doesn't seem very likely though. There's a lot of blood splattered everywhere. They don't show that part in the movies. It takes longer than you should to realize that you shouldn't just sit here and pull your head away from the scope to look down at the scene in full. There is dead silence below as everyone stares down at Gerard, at his body, but it only last for a second before your father starts shouting for everyone to take cover, if anyone knows where the shot came from. The hunters immediately duck for cover behind a dumpster and against the other side of the street, unlike Derek, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd, who just stand there gaping at Gerard's body. But that's not good enough, you have to make them go away so Isaac can escape. You fire several shots at the ground in front of the dumpster, ducking down behind when they try to look up and see where the shots are coming from, but eventually you hear your dad yell “Retreat!” and they all run back down the street and around the corner. For a second you're afraid they might run into Scott, but you can't see him anymore, and anyway, you're out of time.

You put your gun back in your duffel bag and head back to the other side of the roof so you can climb down the fire escape again. You're very numb, and you have to blink a lot to make sure you're seeing the stairs properly in front of you. At least you're not panicking though. That would make it hard to do what you have to do.

You jump down from the last step, landing on three points and wincing a little when you skin your knee. Getting to your feet is harder than it should be, it feels like your balance has been thrown off and things get a little blurry for a second. You take a deep breath and hitch your bag onto your shoulder.

Walk over to Lydia's car, you tell yourself. That's all you have to do.

To your credit, you try, you really do, but when you're halfway there when everyone bursts onto the scene.

“You!” Derek Hale says, looking at you with shock all over his face. The stomach of his dark blue shirt is soaked in blood, but it's darker than the blood that pooled out of Gerard's head. Maybe it's because of the lighting.

You don't respond. You don't have anything to say to him. Erica and Boyd's wary looks are equally unimportant. Isaac, though...you're almost afraid to look at him. It's not like you didn't think he'd find out, it's just...you didn't think he'd be there to see it.

“Are you okay?” you ask, dully, looking at his bloody side. Your voice is completely flat. It doesn't sound like you care at all. You don't, really. You don't care about anything right now.

Isaac nods shortly, and the unreadable expression on his face makes your stomach turn a bit. He looks like he doesn't recognize you at all.

“What,” Scott says stepping out from behind Derek, horror all over his face. “Allison, what did you _do_?”

You don't want to talk to him. You don't want to explain yourself, tell him that it was for him, for all of you. You don't think he'd listen, and you don't want to hear what he'll say. You knew that he wouldn't like it, that he'd think it was wrong. He's right. You just don't really care.

“It's over,” you say flatly, looking at him as calmly as you can.

“You,” Scott says, shock and _hurt_ all over his face and why is he looking at you like that? He knew what Gerard was. “You, why did you, I had a plan!”

“It was taking too long,” you reply, and you have to clench your fists together to keep your hands from shaking. You don't want to be here anymore. You want to go home.

Home is probably not the best place right now, though.

“It wouldn't have worked anyway,” you say, the edge of your vision going blurry again. You try to pretend it doesn't affect you. “He was going to kill everyone else first.”

“You didn't have t-”

“What plan?” Derek asks suspiciously, looking between you and Scott accusingly.

“You were almost useful for once,” you tell him coldly, because why is he even here anymore? You got rid of his problem for him. Shouldn't he be off trying to manipulate more innocent teenagers into becoming werewolves?

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” Derek demands, baring his teeth at you.

“It means you know what happens to people who screw with me,” you retort, fists clenched at your sides. You do _not_ have time for Derek Hale right now. You are _done_.

“Hey, enough!” Scott says, stepping between you two, but he's facing you, like he's trying to shield Derek . “Allison, stop it!”

It shouldn't hurt so much. You don't know why you care so much about his good opinion of you. You don't even know him that well.

“Then keep him on his leash,” you say, contemptuously, trying to ignore the crawling of your skin.

“ _What_ did you just say to me?” Derek snarls, trying to shove Scott out of the way.

“Hey!” Lydia shouts from behind you, getting out of her car. “You leave her alone!”

You don't want her getting involved in this, and you try and signal her with your eyes that this isn't a great idea, but Lydia either doesn't notice or ignores you because she marches over beside you, face pale but determined.

“You leave her alone,” she repeats, shoulders trembling almost imperceptibly underneath the dim street lights. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

“ _You're_ the one who doesn't know what she's talking about, she just shot someone in the head!” Erica blurts out, looking far less confident than she's looked these past few months.

“He tried to kill her!” Lydia shoots back, starting to look angry, but you don't want to deal with this now. You're so tired and your head aches.

“Lydia, don't, let's go,” you say shortly, taking her arm. She's surprisingly warm, or maybe that's because you're very cold, even with your jacket. “We shouldn't stick around.”

The police were bound to be called eventually and what would happen if you dad came back and saw you here?

Lydia gives the rest of them one final glare and then takes you by the hand and pulls you back to the car. You feel very strange, and she says something, but you can't quite catch it. You don't dare look at Isaac- you don't think you could bear the guarded look on his face, like you hadn't braced your hands on his chest and rode him until he begged for release just yesterday. You shake your head to clear the muzziness and nearly trip over the side of the car trying to walk around it to the passenger seat. It takes more than one try to fit your duffel in (shit, did you even unload your gun?) and Lydia has to reach in from the driver's seat and pull it inside before you sit down. You lean back against the headrest as she starts the car so you don't have to see them all staring at you as she drives away and try to resist the urge to curl into a little ball on the floor. You try to focus just on breathing, and not vibrating out of your skin. You need to stay calm now, you try to tell yourself, but it doesn't come out that way and instead you think, I just killed my grandfather. What is that called anyway? you wonder numbly, grand-patricide?

“Can you take us to the motel?” Isaac says from the backseat and you almost jump because you hadn't realized he was in the car with you.

You turn in your seat and look at him carefully. He's holding your duffel bag cautiously, but it's too dark to see his expression. You're so relieved that he's here that you find yourself choking back a sob.

“Not with that you aren't,” Lydia says firmly. “You're staying at my house tonight. They'll be looking at all the hotels.”

You guess that makes sense. A sniper isn't something hunters are usually used to worrying about. “I have to tell my parents I'm sleeping over,” you say, trying to figure out which pocket you put your phone in. You pull it out and nearly drop it, hands shaking stupidly.

“Here, let me,” Isaac says, reaching forward to take your phone. He squeezes your hand before he draws back and you let out a pathetic shudder and sag back into the passenger seat for the rest of the ride.

You don't remember getting out of the car and entering Lydia house. You're just suddenly being half-carried by Isaac down the hallway to one of Lydia's guest bedrooms. He sets you on the bed and then turns on the lamp on the bedside table. You look around the room. It almost looks like a hotel room, impersonally empty with a picture of a lake above the desk in the corner.

“Are you okay?” Isaac asks you, sitting down next to you and looking at you worriedly.

His concern is such a relief you could cry and you bury your face in his shoulder. “Yeah,” you say automatically, even though you're not sure that's at all true.

You pull him down to the bed with you and try not to shake. If you can just get through this everything will be fine, you know. You just have to fight through this horrible anxiety and _breathe_.

You manage it fine for a while, you're not sure how long, and then Isaac pulls back to look at you. “You want to change?”

“I didn't bring anything,” you mumble into his shoulder, red, red, red blood behind your eyelids, burning into your brain.

“Lydia left some pajamas.”

You don't want to move, but it's stupid to sleep in your jacket and jeans so you force yourself to sit up and unzip your jacket. Your hands get caught in the sleeves when you take it off and for some reason that makes you panic and shake.

“Allison,” Isaac says, reaching forward to still your struggling arms. “Let me help you.”

You take a deep breath and nod, feeling stupidly grateful not having to move while he pulls off your shirt. He leaves your bra on, even though you don't usually sleep in it, and instead pulls the long t-shirt with something about a charity run on it over your head that Lydia must have left you.

“I was going to tell you after,” you tell him, feeling suddenly guilty about your lie of omission over the past few days. “After I...I just wanted it to be over first.”

“Okay,” Isaac says after a pause and you can't tell if he's angry or not. You shudder a bit as he unzips your pants and pulls them down your legs, clinging to his shoulders.

“He put a bomb under my car,” you tell him, hating how your voice shakes, but hating even more how you're using that as an excuse for lying to him. You're not even sure it was a bomb anyway.

“What?” Isaac says, sounding horrified.

“He found out,” you mumble.

“Jesus,” Isaac exclaims, throws your pants on the floor and pulls you close, cupping the back of your head protectively. It's pretty much the last straw for you and you turn in his arms and pull him down to the bed.

Isaac makes a muffled noise of shock against your mouth, but you ignore it, running your hands through his hair. You need a distraction and you can't think of a better one than a desperate fuck in the wake of your grandfather's murder.

“Allison, wait-” Isaac hisses, pulling away. “I don't think this is-”

“It's good, it's fine,” you say, pushing up his shirt, desperate for skin. “Just, _c'mon_.”

Isaac moans a little when you give up on his shirt and grab his ass, grinding your hips up against his, but instead of doing something useful like taking off his clothes and fucking you, he rolls away so fast that you're left staring at the ceiling in shock.

“What-” you say in confusion, pushing yourself up on your forearms.

“Look,” Isaac says, holding his hands out defensively. “Allison. This isn't...this just isn't a good idea, okay?”

“Why not?” you ask angrily and try and reach for him, but Isaac jerks back immediately.

“It's not, you're all,” he stutters, uncomfortable and wary. “We don't even have any, you know.”

“So?” you say, because you can't care about that right now, one time won't get you pregnant, why can't he just man up and not be such a pussy all the time?

He gives you an annoyed look and you grit your teeth to prevent yourself from saying something you regret.

“I just, I want,” you say, shutting your eyes and despising the fact that he doesn't have a normal libido like every other teenage guy. “Can you just _please_ -”

“Hey, hey, don't, just-” Isaac says, scooting closer to you and wrapping his arms around you so that you shake into his chest. “Later, okay? Just c'mere.”

He pulls you back down onto the bed and arranges the covers around you while you cling to his side. “You okay?” he asks, kissing your forehead chastely.

You don't respond and just grip him tighter, God, you just _murdered_ someone, how can this be happening?

Isaac holds you close and strokes your hair, letting you tremble against him without comment, even though you know you must be freaking him out.

“I don't regret it,” you say after a while, voice shaking pathetically. “I don't, I hate him.”

“I know, it's okay,” Isaac says softly. You've never heard him sound so gentle.

“I _need_ you,” you gasp, clutching him harder, because it's true. You were so, you were so miserable before you met him, you didn't even know. You hated everything, hated living, spending most of your time waiting for the distant light at the end of the tunnel that was adulthood, but not knowing if you could hold on long enough until then. You lied when your therapist asked if you'd ever had suicidal thoughts. But there's a point to it all with Isaac, with Lydia, and he _gave_ you that. He'll never know how grateful you are.

“Later,” he says, completely misunderstanding, but you can't find the words to tell him what he means to you, so you just hold on to him and shake.

Later, much later, when you've gone blissfully numb again and lie limp against Isaac's side, Isaac says, quietly: “I love you.”

You don't reply, because you're pretty sure he thinks you're asleep. You wouldn't know what to say anyway.

 

* * *

 

You don't remember for a split second when you wake-up, but the moment you open your eyes and focus on the floral bedspread of Lydia's guest room everything comes rushing back, blood splattering across your vision. Your stomach turns and you have to leap out of Isaac's arms and run for the adjacent bathroom before you throw up into the toilet.

You didn't eat dinner last night, so there's not really anything in your stomach, but you keep dry heaving until you're lightheaded and your abdomen aches. I killed someone yesterday, you think, clutching the side of the toilet with shaking hands. I killed my father's father. You had to, you know you had to, but you're different now. You always will be. This could be the beginning of something else, something dark. _Give it time, you're you-_

“Allison?” Isaac says, stumbling into the bathroom. “You okay?”

You nod shortly without looking up at him. He drops down beside you and rubs your back gently, hand feeling large and warm and _safe_ over your t-shirt. When you're sure you're not going to throw up again, you wipe your mouth with a piece of toilet paper and turn to press your face into his neck. You're a bit embarrassed about your behavior last night, and incredibly grateful that at least one of you realized how bad of an idea it would be to have sex without protection. Getting an abortion would definitely suck. The nearest Planned Parenthood is probably in San Francisco and doesn't it cost $500 or something? That is not something you need to deal with.

“Okay, c'mere,” Isaac says, lifting you up like you weigh nothing and taking you back to the bed. You wrap your arms around his neck shakily and that helps ground you. He hadn't believed you last night when you told him you needed him, but you do. You'll show him, eventually.

“What time is it?” you mumble when Isaac pulls the covers back up over you.

“Uh...9:30.”

“I should probably go home soon,” you say quietly, even though you feel like you might cry at the thought of it. The more you act like everything's normal, the less suspicious you will be.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Isaac says after a long pause.

“I don't want them to get suspicious.”

Isaac's arm gives a little jerk of panic under you and you reach up to touch his neck steadyingly. You want to ask him how exactly he got onto that dark street with Derek last night, but you're pretty sure the answer is going to make you angry and you can't be angry with him when you've been lying to him the past few days.

“Allison,” he says, clutching your wrist, voice strained with repressed panic. “Don-

You crawl up to press your forehead against his and kiss him gently. “Thank you,” you tell him and watch as Isaac's face falls in resignation and shudders.

Lydia has similar concerns, but you know the longer you wait the worse it's going to get, so you make her drop you off before ten. No one is home when you unlock the door and you almost sob in relief at the reprieve. You hide your gun back in your closet and force yourself to take a shower even though you'd rather just curl up in your bed and not move for days. You have to be normal, you tell yourself. That is the only way you're going to get away with this. Your parents might not suspect you, but surely the police will interview you, and you have to have yourself together for when that happens.

You hide yourself under the covers of your bed when you're done and everything seems foreign. This doesn't feel like your bed, your room. This cannot be your body.

Far too soon, you hear the garage door open. You let out one choked-off sob before you stifle yourself in the sheet. You can do this, you tell yourself, breathing heavily. There is no other option.

You throw yourself out of bed and stare at your reflection in your mirror. You're far too pale, so you slap your cheeks a couple time to get some color into them. But other than that you look okay. Wet hair, pajama bottoms- you look like a normal teenager.

“Allison,” your dad calls from the first floor. “Could you come downstairs please?”

Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic, you tell yourself as you exit your room and walk down the landing. Oh, God, you're going to be sick.

“Yeah?” you say, looking down at your parents in the front hall, trying to lean casually over the railing. You're proud of how your voice doesn't shake.

“Come down, Allison, we need to talk to you,” your mother says, looking very grim. She and your father both look exhausted. They were probably out all night.

You try to fake an annoyed look as you come down the stairs, but you feel like your heart might leap out of your chest. Trying to hide the fact you're having sex with a werewolf was nothing compared to this.

What if they know? you try not to think. What if this is some elaborate trap and they're going to ship me off to some hunter reeducation camp?

“Come into the living room and sit down,” your mother says quietly, putting her hand on your shoulder comfortingly. You feel equal parts shocked and horrified to see the grief in her expression. “There's something we need to tell you.”

They tell you that Gerard unexpectedly succumbed to his disease. You probably react with more confusion than you should because you honestly didn't think they'd lie about the entire thing to you. It's probably a good thing, though. It must mean they got rid of the body. The police won't be involved.

“But...but I thought he had more time,” you say, using that confusion and not the underlying anger at them for _always lying to you_.

“I know it's hard, Allison, but you have to be strong,” your mother tells you, reaching over the living room couch to grip your knee. Her face is very stiff, like she's trying to suppress any and all emotion, and with an unpleasant jolt you realize that it's a disturbingly familiar reaction.

“I-” you say, and it's easy to let the tears come to the surface when you turn to your father, because _you did this_. This is your doing. “Dad, I'm so sorry.”

Your father nods shortly, attempting to hide his grief too, just not as well as your mother. He really seemed to be getting on better with your grandfather recently.

You're not sorry, though. You're terrified at the idea of them finding out and sick at the thought of what you're becoming, but you're not sorry. No guilt. You're really their daughter, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, you all probably saw that coming, but this chapter was fun to write! Everything is weird and twisted as it should be, because for whatever reason I really enjoy making this as strange of a story as possible. Please comment!


	11. Who, who are you?

The funeral is terrible. It wasn't like you were expecting it to be _fun_ , but you're completely unprepared for the contingent of hunters that descend upon Beacon Hills. Your parents claim they are your grandfather's business friends, but it's very hard to miss the menacing men and women in dark jackets from all over the country. There's even a group from Mexico that pays their respects, though they leave pretty quickly after.

Isaac lays low for a couple days until you're sure they're gone, and God, it's such a relief when they do leave. You were worried some of them might stay to help find Gerard's killer, but as it appears his killer was most likely human they don't seem to have much interest. The fact that so few of them actually seemed to _like_ your grandfather is probably also a factor. They _really_ had to reach deep to say positive things about him.

Your parents are paranoid, constantly calling you just to “check up” when you're hanging out with Lydia or Isaac, and from their nighttime conversations you manage to overhear they're worried the sniper might come after them next. Your mother even brings up the possibility of telling you the truth about their true profession so you can be more aware of the danger. You talk about animal testing for fifteen minutes the next morning at breakfast out of sheer terror.

That's not even the worst part. The worst part is when Scott shows up at your door three days later.

Your father is the one who answers the door, and when he calls you downstairs and once you get over the sheer terror of seeing Scott and your father in the same place, you notice him looking at Scott with annoyance and suspicion.

“Hey, sorry, I would have called, but my phone broke,” Scott says with a winning smile. “I just wanted to make sure everything's set for our presentation on Tuesday.”

“Okay,” you say quietly, feeling sick, because how could he come here? It's also the first time you've seen him since you killed Gerard. He's been out of school and when Harris asked Stiles where he was Stiles said he was at the hospital with him mom. You don't know what Gerard did to her, but it must have been bad for Scott to skip school all week. “My notes are upstairs.”

“No, I don't think so,” your father says, blocking Scott from making for the stairs and glaring. “Living room.”

You're taken aback by his hostility, because you know there's no way he can know Scott is a werewolf. It actually takes you a second of looking at his annoyed face in confusion to realize it's because he doesn't want his daughter alone in her bedroom with some strange boy he's never met before. Which...makes sense, you guess.

“Uh, okay,” Scott says, looking bemused, but at the same time you can see him watching your father calculatingly and you're not sure what that means.

“I'll be right back,” you say, and go upstairs to grab your English notes and copy of Of Mice and Men.

To your annoyance, your father is interrogating Scott in the living room when you return, asking him about his hobbies, his plans for college, how long he's known you.

“Okay,” you say, putting your books on the coffee table and giving your father a pointed look, because what the hell? Why is he acting like Scott is your new boyfriend? And if this was the way he was going to act, you're glad he's never going to meet Isaac. You knew your father was overprotective, but this just seems gross and patronizing. What is this, the middle ages? “We need to work on our project now, Dad.”

Your father gives Scott one more cold look before retreating into the kitchen. Scott watches him carefully as he goes, face contemplative. You sit on the couch across from him, the coffee table in-between.

“What are you doing here?” you ask him quietly, though he must be able to hear the way your heart is pounding in your chest.

He turns to look at you, the tiniest bit of uncertainty in his body language. “I came to talk to you.”

“You couldn't have just called?” you ask, a bit of an edge to your voice. “Or talked to me at school, why would you ev...No,” you say in realization. “You're not here for me. You're here for _them_.”

Scott shrugs, not particularly bothered by your accusatory tone. “I thought I could do both.”

“They don't know about you,” you say, annoyed that he would think that showing up at your house would be a good idea to figure out if your parents know about him. “I promise.”

Scott's expression softens a little, but there's hesitation still. He's not sure what to make of you. Which is...it's fine. It only makes sense.

“Lydia said Gerard tried to kill you,” he says gently, like he's afraid bringing it up might upset you. “Why?”

“I don't want to talk about that,” you tell him coldly, fists clenched at your sides. What's the point? He's dead. It's done. Talking about it solves nothing.

“Okay,” Scott says, but he bites the inside of his cheek like he's trying to remain patient. You tell yourself that it doesn't matter what he thinks of you. You don't need his forgiveness for killing Gerard. You know why you did it and you don't regret it. That's enough.

“How's your mother?” you ask him, mostly to change the subject and get him to stop looking at you with such compassion.

Scott's face falls and for a second he almost looks ill with guilt. “She's...she'll be okay. She got out of the hospital today.”

He still looks miserable and you don't think it just has to do with his mother's injuries. Didn't he say his mother didn't know he was a werewolf? Did she find out and react badly?

“It's better that he's dead,” you tell him lowly, picking up your copy of Of Mice and Men just for something to do with your hands.

“Yeah, maybe,” Scott says with a shrug, but he looks uncomfortable. Disgust wells up in you at his virtue. What is he, a saint? Why does he have to be so _good_ all the time?

You hear your father shift in the kitchen and you abruptly remember how risky of a conversation this is to have all out in the open. “You should go,” you tell him, standing and turning away to look at the fireplace to avoid his gaze.

“Okay,” Scott accepts and rises as well. You walk him to the door and focus on keeping your expression unreadable.

“We'll finish it up on Monday,” you say a little louder, for your father's benefit.

“Yeah, okay,” Scott says, smiling at you a little sadly. It makes you want to slam the door in his face.

“I hope your mother feels better,” you say instead, taking out your anger by gripping the door knob unnecessarily tightly. “See you later.”

“How is your project going?” your father asks suspiciously from the door to the kitchen when you walk back into the living room to get your books.

“Fine,” you say dismissively, annoyed at his pathetic, cliché attitude. “He's just one of those goody-two shoes who freaks out about everything.”

Your father scowls, most likely at your cavalier attitude about academics than the possibility of you having a boyfriend. “How much of your grade is it worth?”

“Who cares?” you say in disgust and head back upstairs before he can interrogate you about your grades more.

The whole encounter leaves you with a bad taste in your mouth. You decide you're probably better off avoiding Scott from now on. He never fails to make you feel like a truly shitty person.

You are, you know. It's just you'd rather not be reminded of it all the time.

 

* * *

 

Erica and Boyd watch your every move at school. They don't say anything to you or Isaac, who can now sit with you at lunch without fear of reprisal, but you feel their eyes on your back most of the day, like they're trying to bore holes in it.

You ignore them, for the most part, though Lydia has a few choice things to say about their behavior, which ends about as well as expected.

“Are Thing 1 and Thing 2 going to _do_ anything or are they just going to glare at you?” she asks contemptuously, and of course Erica hears her and stalks over to your table furiously, pulling out of Boyd's attempt to hold her back.

“What did you just call me?” she practically snarls, looking mere seconds away from punching Lydia in the face.

“Did it look like I was talking to you?” Lydia asks disdainfully, unphased by Erica's rage.

Erica slams both her hands down on the table in front of Lydia. “Say it again,” she snarls and you're half-expecting her eyes to glow gold. “Say it to my _face_.”

“Erica-” Boyd tries, putting a hand hesitantly on her shoulder, but she shoves it off.

“Back off,” you tell her coolly, standing up next to Lydia and hoping she won't be stupid enough to try anything in public.

“Or what, you're going to shoot me too?” Erica replies furiously, and you don't know why, but it looks like Lydia really offended her.

“Erica,” Isaac says, getting to his feet beside you with wide eyes. “Calm dow-”

“Don't fucking tell me to calm down,” she says loudly, and to your horror you realize that people in the tables next to you are staring at you, “Just because this slut spreads her legs for you doesn't mean you have to do whatever sh-”

“Erica, _stop it_ ,” Scott says from behind you, and you turn to see him and Stiles looking incredibly tense. Practically half the cafeteria is watching this scene enfold now.

“Mind your own business, McCall,” Erica replies with a disgusted look in his direction.

“Erica, maybe we should go,” Boyd says quietly, looking warily around the cafeteria.

Erica's face softens for a second. “Fine,” she says abruptly and then turns away. You only have a second to sigh in relief before she says,“You know what?” and then turns back around and punches Lydia in the face.

Lydia flies off the bench and onto the floor and both Scott and Boyd lunge forward a second later to restrain Erica from striking again.

“Hey, what is going on here?” The teacher at the other side of the cafeteria shouts and runs toward your table, but you can barely register that, hot white rage burning in your chest. You step forward, fists clenched at your sides, but Isaac grabs your arm before you can raise it and pulls you back before you can do something stupid like stab her with your fork.

“Get _off me_!” Erica shouts, but Scott and Boyd manage to pull her out of the room before she can do anymore damage, the bewildered teacher running after them.

You circumvent the table quickly and go kneel next to Lydia, who is being held in a seated position by Stiles, her nose gushing blood.

“Crazy bitch!” she gasps, tearing up in pain. “Did she break it? Is it broken?”

“I don't think so,” Stiles says worriedly. “We'd better take you to the nurse's office, though.”

Another teacher gives you a wad of cheap paper napkins to stem the blood and then you all help her to the nurse's office while the rest of the cafeteria mutters in shock. The nurse won't let you stay in the room, so you, Isaac, and Stiles wait outside in the hallway, while the other teacher runs to get the principal. Is there even a new principal yet?

“Hey!” Scott says, rounding the corner a minute later. His shirt is ripped a bit at the collar, but other than that he looks no worse for wear. “Is she okay?”

“I don't know,” Stiles says, looking miserable and you find yourself annoyed at that. He doesn't even know her that well. She's _your_ friend. Stiles's stupid crush doesn't give him the right to act like this. “What was Erica _thinking_?”

“She wasn't, obviously,” Isaac says, but he's looking at Scott instead of Stiles, expression wary.

“Okay, just text me, okay?” Scott says, looking very worried. “I have to go call Derek, but I'll be right back, okay?”

“Did they leave school?” Stiles asks, but Scott is already around the corner. “Hey, Scott, tell Derek to keep his crazy betas in chec-oh, shit,” he says, scrambling to his feet and running after Scott without another word, leaving you and Isaac sitting in the hallway outside the nurse's office alone, the sounds of her telling Lydia that everything was going to be fine floating through the door.

“Why is he so nice?” Isaac asks suspiciously, eyeing the way Scott had gone. Like he thinks it might all be some sort of ploy or trick.

You shrug noncommittally. It's just Scott, you know, but you can't say that. It's a little...much. Too on the nose. Isaac might get the wrong impression.

 

* * *

 

Lydia's nose is broken. She claims she's fine with it since it'll give her the excuse to get the nose-job she's always wanted, but you can tell she's in a lot of pain. You all get interviewed by the interim principal and the next day you find out that Erica is suspended. This would be great if not for the fact that your parents are informed that you were a witness and they spend half of dinner trying to unsubtly dissuade you from ever having any contact with Erica again. It's pretty much the last thing you needed after Gerard's murder. You're beginning to afraid they might try and cut their loses and move and that _cannot happen_. You can't leave Isaac.

You don't tell Isaac this, of course. It would just worry him and he deserves a break after everything. Instead you get a motel room, which you've been avoiding for a while for safety concerns, and have sex three times in a row on a Saturday afternoon while your parents think you're at the movies with Lydia.

“Oh shit,” Isaac groans, collapsing on top of you. He's heavy and you squirm under him in annoyance until he pulls out and rolls off you. He hooks an arm around your waist and pants into your shoulder. You smile at him and pet his hair, feeling exhausted and satisfied, but...not really anything else. You're pretty sure you're one of those women who can't orgasm during sex. You can still get yourself off though, and to be honest you much prefer it this way than the other way around.

“I'm going to get a Coke, you want anything?” you ask, sliding out from Isaac's head on your shoulder and sitting up, arching your back to stretch.

“Uh, no, wait, I can get it,” Isaac says predictably, sitting up and looking around the room for his jeans.

“Go to sleep,” you tell him, rolling your eyes, but he practically leaps out of bed before you can find your bra, a surprisingly sudden movement for someone who was dozing on top of you two seconds ago.

“I said I got it,” he says pointedly, pulling on his boxers and grabbing his shirt off the floor. “Stay in bed.”

“Okay,” you say dubiously and fall back with a sigh as soon as the door clicks shut.

Isaac has this weird thing about you staying even bed after sex, which is really annoying when you have to pee. You don't know if it's a male thing, a werewolf thing, or just an Isaac thing, but he gets weird when you try to get up right away. Instead, he prefers to bring you things, like water or food and pop from the vending machines outside. He got you breakfast once, which was especially weird because he didn't get any for himself. Just for you. You kinda suspect he got it from a movie or something, like some dumb romantic comedy where the guy gets the girl breakfast in the morning to prove he respects her. Which is dumb. Chivalry is stupid. You can get your own breakfast.

You can't tell him that though, because you can tell that it would really hurt his feelings, even though you don't understand why.

“Here,” Isaac says when he comes back into the room a minute later, tossing you the bottle, surprising you that he remembered you drink Diet Coke.

“Thanks,” you say and try to hide your smile when he shucks off his jeans and climbs back into bed with you, kissing your shoulder while you unscrew the top. Neither of you are particularly good conversationalists (you didn't notice it until Lydia pointed it out, but you really _don't_ talk to each other all that much) so you lie in silence for a while while you sip on your drink. It's nice, though. Isaac has his arm around you and seems to be content to breathe you in, at least until he starts nuzzling into your neck insistently.

The nuzzling means he wants to have sex. It's really, really stupid-you don't get why he doesn't just ask for it. He doesn't even do the cliché _wanna fool around?_ thing. He just...nuzzles. And if you don't make the first move, you don't have sex, because he is somehow still unable to take the initiative for anything beyond kissing. You actually tested how long he could last without you making a move, and the result was forever because after five minutes of nuzzling he got bored and went to go take a shower. It's weird and seems kind of juvenile, to be honest. Or it would if not for the fact that it _really turns you on_ , because you're a freak. It makes you practically dizzy with lust to think of him next to you, all warm and hungry for you, curling close to your neck to entreat you to take pity on him, silently begging for your affection. Just... _God_ , it makes you wet.

You roll away for a second to put your Coke on the bedside table and then turn back to kiss him furiously, pushing him onto his back and climbing over him because you love the wide-eyed look he gets when you do that, even if it's hardly new. His hands come up to grip your waist and you don't know why, but for some reason you think _I don't think so_ and push them off you, pinning his wrists to the mattress.

Isaac freezes. His face is a picture of shock and for a second you think you've done something wrong, something that reminded him of things that should never be thought of in bed.

Except then you feel his dick jerk against your ass. You blink and then raise your eyebrows at him.

“Um,” Isaac says, cheeks and upper chest actually flushing before your eyes.

He doesn't say anything else and neither do you for a second, tilting your head to the side consideringly. You tighten your grip on his wrists experimentally and he gasps, eyelashes fluttering closed for a second in pleasure.

Huh.

Slowly, ever so so slowly, you pull at his wrists until they're up above his head, Isaac's breathing shallow and stunned. You hover over him and nip at his neck gently and Isaac moans helplessly, tilting his head back for more. You can feel him leaking against you, which, okay, _gross_ , but also _mine_.

Isaac whimpers and trembles as you kiss him, fighting against the urge to move back and just sink down on him like this. You'd love to get him inside you, but you'd have to let him go to get a condom and that is just _not_ an option when he's moaning your name so prettily. But you can't think of any other way to do this-reaching back to jerk him off would just be too weird, so you let go of his wrists and grab for another condom in your purse-your last one, you really need to buy more. Isaac groans in disappointment, hips jerking helplessly under you, but he doesn't move his arms from above his head. It also means that you have to put the condom on him, which you haven't done before and is kind of awkward. It's not that you haven't seen his dick before, _obviously_ you have, but it's weird just...looking at it.

The weirdness doesn't last long, fortunately, and then you're back to pinning his wrists to the top of the bed and riding him until he starts moaning so loudly you would probably be worried about getting a noise complaint if you weren't too busy reveling in it.

He comes way sooner than he usually does and you smirk as he pants in exhaustion because of _you_. This is _your doing_.

“Oh, shit,” he says after a minute, mortified, cheeks coloring further, and then hides his face under a pillow in embarrassment.

It was way too hot to be embarrassing, but you get it, so you just curl up beside him and stroke his back until you can coax his face out of bedsheets and into your neck where it belongs.

Your parents are werewolf-hunters, your boyfriend is a werewolf, and two weeks ago you murdered your grandfather. Weird sex stuff is probably inevitable at this point. You wonder if Isaac would like being tied up. The idea is more appealing than it should be.

“You ready for finals?” you ask, mostly to distract him from his embarrassment, smoothing your hand up and down his back soothingly.

Isaac just shrugs and lets out a noncommittal grunt, still not surfacing from your neck.

“I'm not usually good at finals,” you tell him, kissing his temple gently and then shifting over slowly onto your back, reaching down to pull the sheets up to your waists. “I usually never have the motivation to study.”

You failed your history final last semester and just barely passed the class. Your parents were so mad. You didn't do so well on midterms this semester either because you were too distracted by your parents going after Isaac and losing your virginity. You're averaging a C in most of your classes and you really need to step up your game. If this continues you won't have the grades to get into anything better than a community college.

“I can help,” Isaac says, peeking up at you hesitantly. “I'm okay at everything except Chemistry.”

“I took Chemistry last year, with a much better teacher than Harris,” you say, scowling at the man's incompetence. “I don't understand how he still has a job.”

Isaac snorts with laughter. “Yeah, my brother said he used to come in to class drunk and they _still_ didn't get rid of him. Between him and Finstock-”

“Your brother?” you ask, looking down at him in shock. You didn't know Isaac had a brother. God, did he still _live_ with his father? “I didn't know you had a brother.”

Isaac's face falls and he shrugs uncomfortably, looking away from you up at the ceiling. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Camden. He's dead.”

You feel as if all the air has been sucked out of your lungs. “H-How-” you ask, chest cold and tight.

“He was a soldier in Iraq,” Isaac says morosely, unaware of your terror and its cause. “Some terrorist killed him.”

“Oh,” you say, unable to help the relief spreading through you at that. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” Isaac says shortly, still not looking at you. “It was more than five years ago. And he was kind of a dick.”

He shifts a bit, reaching under the sheets to get rid of the condom and you watch his bare back cautiously as he leans away from you to throw it away. He settles back on his back beside you, so you turn on your side and put your arm around his waist, resting your chin on his shoulder.

“What about your mother?” you ask. You assumed that Isaac's parents were divorced, but you also assumed that he was an only child.

“She's dead, too,” Isaac says with a too-casual shrug. “Hung herself when I was nine.”

“It's okay,” he says quickly at your horrified look. “I didn't really know her. I mean, she was sick all the time.”

“She was sick?” you say, raising your head to look at him worriedly. Brother and mother dead as a child...you can't imagine what that must have been like. Is that why his dad became such abusive trash? Or was he always like that? You can't ask him that, though. You're pretty sure that would only upset him.

“She was always in bed,” Isaac murmurs, leaning down to press his nose into your hair. He reaches out with his other hand to run his fingers through your hair and you pull him closer, rubbing his side anxiously. “My dad tried to drag her out sometimes, but she'd just start screaming...I guess she was pretty depressed.”

You don't know what to say to that, so you just cup his face and kiss him softly. Your chest aches at the realization of how much pain he's gone through in his short life. It's not fair. He doesn't deserve this.

If you want, I'll kill him for you, you think, leaning your forehead against his and closing your eyes. Just say the word.

Isaac would never want that, of course. But part of you wants to do it anyway, as if that could somehow erase the misery and abuse he'd suffered over his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngl, I enjoy Allison and Isaac's dysfunctional relationship, because I'm amused by failure. But don't worry, Scott will bring some much needed communication into their lives. Please comment!


	12. Now you're moving on and you say you're alone

School ending is such a relief, for more than one reason. You and Isaac get your act together and actually study for finals instead of just screwing all the time, and you think you did okay. You tried to study with Lydia, but the thing about studying with geniuses is that they don't actually need to study, and by the end she was just annoyed at your inability to grasp what she considers basic concepts. Besides the stress of finals, it's good that you'll no longer be forced to spend class time with Erica and Boyd, who just glare at you the entire time and make you worry about going to the bathroom alone. Well, you're not really afraid of Boyd, who is by far the more reasonable of the two, but even after her suspension, Erica still seems like she'd like to start another fight. Hopefully she'll cool down over summer break.

Mostly, you're glad to get away from Scott. He hasn't tried to talk to you since he came to your house, even though he could at school, but he kept _looking_ at you, like...you don't know. Like he's worried about you? He feels sorry for you? You don't get it and it's creeping you out.

Unfortunately for you, your plan to avoid Scott for the summer lasts about five days before you get a text from him saying you need to meet.

“Seriously, why can't we ever meet anywhere nice?” Stiles complains when you, Lydia, and Isaac walk up to meet him and Scott by the swings in the deserted park by the elementary school. It's just after eight and you're hoping to any observers that you look like a bunch of bored teenagers with nothing better to do on a summer night. “Why is it always parking lots and abandoned woods with you people? For once couldn't we go out to dinner, see a movie, do something fun?”

“Fun for _who_?” Lydia asks in disgust, looking generally as unimpressed with Stiles as she usually does. You have no idea why Stiles likes her so much when she clearly has so little respect for him.

“Look,” Scott says, before Stiles can continue his pathetic quest to humiliate himself as much as possible. “I don't know if you already know, but we've got problems. Have you ever heard anything about an Alpha Pack?”

“A what?” you say, but Scott's not looking at you, he's looking at Isaac.

“Did Derek ever mention it?” he continues when Isaac just looks confused.

“Uh, no,” Isaac responds, frowning in confusion.

“What's an alpha pack?” you say, feeling a little ill at the serious look on Scott's face. This can't be happening. Everything was supposed to go back to normal now.

“A pack of alphas,” Stiles says, with a shrug.

“How does that even work?” Lydia asks. “I thought alphas were in charge of a pack.”

“I don't know,” Scott says, looking a little disappointed. “The only reason I know they're here is because I overheard Erica and Boyd talking about it. I tried to talk to Derek, but he just told me to stay out of it.”

“On the bright side, he's finally stopped trying to get Scott to join his pack,” Stiles offers. “But unfortunately, he still is not telling us anything.”

“When you say they're here...” you say slowly, heart pounding in your chest. “You mean a bunch of alphas have come to Beacon Hills.”

“Yeah,” Scott says, looking weary, though that just might be the white street lights causing him to appear unnaturally pale. “Yeah, that's the impression I got from Derek.”

“What do they want?” Lydia asks, while you try not to lose your composure and do something like punch something and scream.

“I don't know, Derek, maybe?” Scott says, shaking his head. “He just...he doesn't want me to get involved.”

That does nothing to reassure you. If it's bad enough that even _Derek_ is trying to protect Scott...an entire _pack_ of alphas. What are you supposed to do against that?

“My parents don't know about this yet,” you say quietly. “But they will.”

“Look, we don't even know what they want yet,” Scott says, holding out his hands placatingly. “We just need you to keep an eye out for anything you think might have to do with them. The sooner we figure out what's going on the better.”

“Yeah, we can do that,” Isaac says, surprisingly amenable to Scott's request.

“What have you done so far?” Lydia asks, crossing her arms over her chest and clutching her arms even though it's quite warm out.

“Done?” Scott frowns.

“I mean, I listen to the police scanner and my dad's calls, but besides that...” Stiles says, looking confused. “We don't know enough about them to do any research.”

“What about checking all the new arrivals in town?” Lydia says, looking irritated. “Hotel rooms, car rentals, new leases?”

“Uh,” Stiles says, looking at Scott in bewilderment before turning back to Lydia. “I don't...And how do you think we'd get access to this information?”

“Isn't your dad the Sheriff?”

“Are you kidding, you think he knows about any of this?” Stiles says, only now looking nervous and serious. “No way is he finding out about this! He is staying, way, _way_ away from all this supernatural crap.”

It might help if _you_ weren't involved, you think, but you realize you're hardly the person to judge, and focus on more important things.

“County Clerk's office would have that information, wouldn't they?” Isaac says.

“Not unless they're planning on voting,” Lydia says, rolling her eyes. “And even if they were, it's not like that stuff's public record.”

“So there's no way to find out who's moved into town recently?” you ask, annoyed and still shaken from the idea of a _pack of alphas_ moving into your town.

“Who's to say they're even staying in a hotel or something?” Stiles says. “If they're anything like Derek they're probably squatting in an abandoned warehouse somewhere.”

You and Isaac exchange a brief look. “I don't think so,” Isaac says, sticking his hands into his pockets. “But there are a bunch of empty storefronts near the forest preserve that they could probably stay in without anyone noticing. We could check them out if you want.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Scott says, the surprise you feel mirrored on his face, because Isaac had never really liked Scott before and it's weird to see him acting so helpful. The surprise fades, though, and Scott smiles at Isaac, pleased at this turn of events. “Thanks, that'd be great.”

Isaac slouches a little in embarrassment, looking away from Scott almost shyly, and you have absolutely no idea what's going on here. You thought they didn't like each other. It's almost a relief to see Stiles looking just as confused as you do, though Lydia does not react at all, probably because she doesn't care.

“So, that's that, then,” Lydia says, tapping her heeled shoe impatiently. “Text us if you find out anything.”

“Well, I don't actually have your number, so-”

“Then text Allison,” Lydia says, flatly. “Now, let's go, some of us have things to do.”

“Well, we could hang out or go somewhere if that's...” Stiles tries, but Lydia is already walking away. You give Scott an apologetic look at Lydia's rudeness, but instead of commiserating with you over your friends' behavior, he's watching you with worried, unnecessarily empathetic eyes. You have to turn away and follow Lydia back to her car to avoid flinching, and even then it makes your stomach turn. You just...you just don't like it when he looks at you like that. It's so...familiar. It's uncomfortable.

“He likes you, you know,” Isaac says awkwardly when you tell him this, curled up together in one of the library beanbags the next day. You're going to be a lifeguard at the public pool, but you don't start for another week, and both you are Isaac are bored out of your minds. Isaac wasn't able to get more hours over the summer, but maybe you can get him in the pool for free? Otherwise you're not sure what he's going to do. Definitely not hang out with Lydia in his free time.

You scoff. “He's too nice for me,” you say, because it's true. You don't understand why he even likes you. You have very different ideas on how to deal with crisis.

It's only later that you realize that that was kind of a strange response.

 

* * *

 

 Being a lifeguard is unsurprisingly just as boring as you'd thought it be. You really just spend most of your time yelling at kids to stop running and getting a horrible sunburn. You didn't used to be so pale as a kid, so you're completely unprepared for how much sunscreen you have to put on everyday. Still, it gets you out of the house and the shirtless college boys are definitely a bonus. Also shirtless Isaac when he comes to visit you. Minimum wage sucks, but you're trying to save up money for Isaac in case of emergency. You keep a balance of a couple hundred dollars in your account to avoid raising suspicion, but pretty much all of your money is in cash in your closet. If the worst comes to pass, you don't want your parents locking you out of your bank account, and Isaac can't use his because as a minor his dad still has control over it.

Lydia and Isaac come to visit when they can, which is fun, the former in an utterly scandalous bikini that makes you simultaneously judgmental and jealous, because unfortunately you're not yet at the shape to pull off a bikini. Maybe next summer. Most of the kids in your grade take the trip up to the beach if they want to go swimming, so it's mostly just soccer moms and their grade school-aged kids, but occasionally you get someone you vaguely recognize from school. Or more than vaguely recognize, like when Scott and Stiles show-up, clearly unaware that you work at the pool, and you're forced to spend most of the time awkwardly not looking at each other. Fortunately it only happens once, and they don't come back after that because ~~Scott in a bathing suit is unfairly hot and muscular and then he gets~~ _~~wet~~_ ~~, which only makes things~~ _~~worse~~ _ you just really need to stay away from them.

The summer is mostly uneventful. You and Isaac work, hang out with Lydia, have sex in his sleeping bag, your car, or occasionally a motel room. It's the first summer in a while you've actually had anything to do other than locking yourself in your room and listening to depressing music, and, like an idiot, you start to hope that maybe there is no Alpha Pack, or they left, and that everything will be okay now.

It isn't, of course, and sure enough, in the middle of July, you find Scott and Stiles waiting outside next to your car in the parking lot after the pool closes, deathly serious looks on their faces.

“What happened?” you ask automatically, clutching your pool bag, dread spreading slowly up into your throat.

“Erica and Boyd,” Scott says, misery and helplessness written all over him. “They've gone missing.”

 

* * *

 

 There is no sign of either Boyd or Erica. Scott and Derek search the woods while you and Isaac take the warehousing district, but you find nothing. The last time they were seen was in the morning by their parents, a full day before Derek realized they were missing, and none of them know where they were headed that day. The police have been notified and have been conducting interviews with their families, but Stiles confirms they have no real leads. Neither of them took their parents' cars and footage from the bus station shows they didn't take a bus out of town either. It's like they simply vanished into thin air.

You go home that night with cold fear weighing down your every step, your hands clenched tightly to prevent them from shaking. Please, please, let your parents be asleep already, please let them have gone to be-

“Allison, I was just about to call you, it's nearly midnight!” your mother says, coming out of the kitchen and into the front hallway when you open the door. “I know it's summer, but you still need to be home at a reasonable hour. It isn't safe driving at this time of night.”

“Okay,” you say quietly, looking at her as steadily as you can. You must not show any fear. “I'm sorry.”

You try and make your way to the stairs without any further interruptions, but you should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

“Allison, is there something wrong?” your mother asks, giving you a strange look. She's wearing a peach-colored cardigan over her pair of silky pajamas, no earrings or makeup, but even her harmless appearance cannot convince you she is anything but what she is. “Allison?”

 

_“Please, please don't, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I couldn't help it! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't kill me, p-please don't kil-”_

 

“I'm just tired,” you say with a noncommittal shrug, looking away from her so you don't have to remember the dispassionate expression on her face as she murdered a fifteen year old girl.

You go upstairs and flop down on your bed, holding your hands to your pounding heart. It was pretty clear that Scott and Stiles assumed the Alpha Pack was behind Erica and Boyd's disappearance, but you know that there's another far more terrifying possibility. You stare at your ceiling and try to take deep calming breaths to relieve the anxiety building up in your chest. It doesn't help.

Because the truth is, Erica and Boyd could very well already be dead, buried out in the woods somewhere with wolfsbane bullets in their heads, and if that's true, you're never going to find them. Your parents are too smart for that.

 

* * *

 

 You can't stop thinking about your parents murdering Erica and Boyd. As days turn into a week and still there is no news, you only feel worse. Eavesdropping on your parents conversations reveal nothing-they don't talk about anything hunter-related- and you can't stop yourself from assuming the worst. Or imagining it.

By the time you reach day nine your anxiety has caused you to start binging on chips and chocolate again, which you haven't done for months. You have trouble sleeping and you're tired all the time. You almost fall asleep at work and even your parents notice the circles under your eyes and your general sluggishness. You haven't felt this bad since Derek turned Isaac and he stopped talking to you. You try to keep it together, to convince yourself that everything will be alright, but everything comes to a head when you go to Isaac to try and distract yourself, which ends up backfiring completely and you end up starting to cry in the middle of sex. Isaac freaks out and practically breaks his back on the warehouse concrete floor trying to get off you and you hide your face under his pillow when he won't stop apologizing. You hate yourself for your weakness and the fact that you've just made Isaac feel terrible. He already has no sexual confidence; the last thing he needs is you making him think he's hurting you to the point that you start crying. God, he'll never have sex with you again.

“Allison, are you okay?” Isaac says, kneeling next to you hesitantly, sounding like he might start crying himself. “I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to-”

“I'm fine, you didn't hurt me,” you tell him and reach out to drag him down next to you on the sleeping bag again and press your face into his shoulder. “I...I think my parents killed Erica and Boyd.”

“What?” Isaac says after a long pause.

“It's the only thing that makes sense,” you say through your teeth, clutching his shoulders as if that could save you. “They've just disappeared! Why would the Alpha Pack kidnap them anyway? It's been more than a week and no one's made any demands! But my parents...they've done this before. They know how to disappear people. Before we moved here...no one ever found any bodies, people just went missing and they were never found!”

“But,” Isaac says, gripping you back tightly and pulling you into his arms. “But, you don't have any proof, right? Your parents didn't say anything?”

“No, but I can't...I can't stop thinking about it,” you choke, hot tears spilling down your cheeks and onto his shoulder. “I'm so stupid, I should have realized that just because Gerard is dead doesn't mean they wouldn't stop. This is what they do and they're never going to stop!”

“Allison, we don't know anything, okay?” Isaac says, stroking your hair, probably trying to sound comforting, but he sounds scared too. “Just, just don't think about that.”

It's not exactly helpful, but you take comfort where you can get it and let him maneuver the both of you into his sleeping bag, not daring you raise your head from his shoulder.

“Hey, it's going to be okay,” Isaac says after a couple minutes when you can't stop shaking. “ _Allison._ ”

“I...I don't believe you,” you tell him tearfully, raising you head to look at him. You can't really see anything in the bad light, but Isaac can probably see.

Isaac doesn't say anything, just kisses your cheek and runs his palms down your bare back soothingly.

“Why didn't you tell anyone you thought your parents...?” Isaac asks after you lie back down, wrapping an arm around his waist. “You didn't tell Lydia, right?”

You shake your head miserably, because how could you? How could you tell Lydia, or Scott, that you were pretty sure your parents had murdered two of your classmates? That you failed? You had one job, to protect as many innocent people from your parents' crusade as possible. Erica and Boyd might have been unpleasant, but they hadn't deserved to _die_.

“Hey, it's going to be okay,” Isaac repeats, but you can tell by the tremor in his hands that he doesn't believe that any more than you do.

 

* * *

 

“And you didn't think of mentioning this _sooner_?” Derek snarls furiously, pacing up and down the pavement in front of you.

“Hey, she doesn't know anything for sure,” Scott says, looking between the two of you nervously. He'd been the one who insisted on you telling Derek face-to-face, which he should have known would be a disaster. You haven't seen or spoken to Derek since you killed Gerard and his mood has only worsened at Erica and Boyd's disappearance. “It's just...it's a possibility.”

“They're not dead,” Derek snaps irritably, folding his arms over his chest and glaring at you. “Why would your parents kill them anyway? Don't they have a code? I thought they weren't supposed to go after werewolves that hadn't hurt anyone. Especially kids.”

“Oh, is _that_ why you chose them?” you're unable to stop yourself from saying, angry at his hostility because you're trying to _help_.

“Will you let that go?” Derek says in annoyance, giving you a disdainful look. “I explained the risks and they said yes. The bite is a gift.”

“Look, can we focus on-” Scott tries, while Isaac shifts next to you nervously. He'd been worried about you going alone, even though he's far more afraid of Derek than you are.

“'Explained the risks?'” you repeat scathingly, disgusted at his lack of understanding of what he'd done. “You took advantage of them. You went after kids you _knew_ would say yes and now two of them might be dead because of-”

“Allison,” Isaac says sharply, the first words he's said since he got out of your car.

“Why do you always defend him?” you want to say, even though he never has, not really. He just hasn't condemned him either.

“Because of _me_?” Derek retorts, looking furious and stepping towards you. “You mean because of your parents. What is the point of you if you can't even-”

“Okay, enough!” Scott yells, stepping between you with his arms outstretched. “Can't we just-”

“No, we obviously can't,” you say, because you're too angry to stay here much longer. God, you'd just love to empty your clip into his stupid face. “I'm done. Go to hell.”

You turn away before you can do something stupid and walk back across the parking lot to your car, gritting your teeth angrily. But to your annoyance, when you open your front door and get inside, throwing your purse in the back seat, you realize that Isaac has not followed you back to your car. Instead he's talking to Scott. You can't see his expression from this angle through your windshield, but Scott is nodding and looking a little relieved. Derek remains mutinous. After a couple seconds, Isaac approaches your car and sits down beside you in the passenger seat, Derek disappearing into the darkness and Scott picking up his bike next to the street light and peddling away after a brief wave in your direction.

“What were you talking about?” you ask him as you start your car, wanting get as far away from this parking lot as possible, just in case Derek's listening.

“Just about where to look next for Erica and Boyd,” Isaac says, looking at his fingernails instead of you. “They really don't think your parents killed them.”

“They don't know my parents,” you say darkly, but strangely it does make you feel a bit better.

Isaac doesn't respond to that, or say anything at all until nearly ten minutes have gone by and you're well on your way back to the warehousing district.

“It...it wasn't like that, you know,” he says finally, leaning his head against the passenger seat window. “Like you said. He didn't...he explained the risks. About the hunters.”

“He picked you because he knew you'd say yes,” you say flatly, trying to keep the anger out of your voice, because Isaac isn't the one you're angry at. “He picked three high school sophomores.”

“He was...I thought he was trying to help us,” Isaac says, but he doesn't sound very sure about it.

That does give you pause. 'The bite is a gift' he'd said. If he really believed that, maybe he thought he should give it to people who really needed it. Isaac, beaten by his father. Erica, epileptic with severe symptoms. Boyd...you don't know. Something else probably.

It changes nothing, you tell yourself, glaring out the windshield as you stop at a stop sign. It doesn't change the fact that he'd beaten Isaac for speaking up for you, or the fact that both Erica and Boyd seemed afraid of him too. He's a bully, whether he realizes that or not, and you need to keep Isaac as far away from him as possible.

“He didn't...take advantage of us,” Isaac says uncomfortably, and you seal your mouth shut to stop yourself from arguing. You don't think it would do any good. You know you're right, but Isaac doesn't have that clarity, for reasons that are painful to think about. Hopefully, he will one day. “He just offered, you know, and he knew...he wanted...”

But your patience pays off, it seems. Isaac can't even finish that sentence.

You stop the car at your destination and reach over the divider to cup his miserable face.

“Hey,” you say unthinkingly, tilting it towards you. “I love you.”

Isaac stares at you, eyes going wide, mouth dropping open a bit in shock. You feel your cheeks burn and you drop your hand away from his face, turning back towards the road. Why did you say that? you think. You don't love him. He doesn't love you either. He thinks he does, but he's sixteen years old. Not that he would know. You don't think anyone's ever loved Isaac.

“Okay...” Isaac says carefully, after a pause. God, you hope he can't tell you lied. Does it count when you didn't mean to? “You wanna come in?”

“Yeah, okay,” you say quickly, even though you should probably be going home. You actually had to jump in the pool today, after some idiot middle school boy tried to pretend to be drowning on a dare. It was actually kind of refreshing, though not as refreshing as kicking him and his stupid friends out. But as a result, you reek of chlorine. And if even you can smell it, it must be terrible for Isaac.

He doesn't seem to mind, though, you realize as he kisses you and peels your still-damp suit off, mouthing at your boobs and clutching you tightly. You close your eyes while he moves over you, gasping in your ear, and wonder what you'll do if Erica and Boyd are dead. You barely survived when your parents killed a girl you'd never even spoken to, how could you stay in that house if they murdered people you actually interacted with?

“A-Allison?” Isaac says, and you blink, realizing you'd spaced out. He's leaning over you, breath coming fast and light against your cheek, and you can't see his face in the dark, but he's gone very still. “Are you-are you okay?”

He starts to pull out, but you tighten your legs around his waist. “No, it's okay, you can finish,” you tell him, feeling guilty for drifting off.

“Wh-What?” Isaac says, sounding confused.

“C'mon,” you say, pulling him down to kiss you and rocking up against him.

Isaac kisses you back for a second and then pulls away to press his face in your neck, starting to thrust again slowly. You stroke the short hairs at the back of his neck and stare up at the dark warehouse ceiling as he unravels, imagining confronting them over dinner, smashing glasses, plates, bowls in a rage.

Isaac won't talk to you afterward, just curls up under the flap of the sleeping bag with only his hair sticking out on the pillow. You can't tell if he's just tired or if he's mad about you zoning out during sex.

“Okay, I'm going now,” you tell him dubiously, pulling on your t-shirt and sticking your damp swimsuit into your bag.

Isaac doesn't respond.

“Isaac?” you say, peering at his mop of hair poking out from the sleeping bag.

“Mmkay,” he mumbles tiredly and sniffs a bit.

“Night...” you say, getting to your feet and searching around for your flip flops a bit.

“Night,” he says shortly, his voice weird and distorted from under the sleeping bag. You leave the warehouse feeling disconcerted and guilty. You guess you should stop having sex with him as a distraction when you're prone to spacing out. You're kind of surprised he cares, but maybe it's an ego thing.

But you don't have time to worry about your weird relationship drama. Because the next day Isaac finds Erica and Boyd, and all hell breaks lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhangers! I love them so much. And oh, yes, the Alpha Pack. I really enjoyed 3a so it was actually hard to write this part because I didn't want to change anything! But fear not, I soldiered on-there is more weirdness to come. Please comment!


	13. Suspicious that this string is moving your bones

You're hanging out with Lydia at the mall (her natural habitat), trying on makeup at Sephora when you get the call.

"Look, Allison, don't freak out," Scott starts, sounding out of breath. "But Isaac's in the hospital."

"What?" you say, loudly, too loudly, your chest seizing with fear. You shove the box of eyeshadow haphazardly back onto its shelf. "What happened?"

"I don't know, my mother just called me," he says, sounding out of breath. "She said he's awake, he's probably fine, but she didn't know if his dad knows about the whole werewolf thin-"

"No!" you interject, your knees weak at how easily everything is falling apart. "No, Scott, you have to stop her from calling his dad. His dad can't know!"

"Allison..." Scott says, sounding confused. "I...he's sixteen. They called him the second they identified him."

This is a nightmare, you think, staring blankly at the colorful shelves in front of you. If he comes to the hospital...if he tries to make Isaac come back. Obviously he couldn't make Isaac do anything he didn't want to, but...could he? Abused people go back. You know this. And the way Isaac'd tried to defend Derek...

"Allison?" Lydia says, coming up next to you, her black basket already filled with earthy-toned makeup and bright lipsticks. "What's wrong?"

"I...I have to go," you tell Scott flatly, walking out of the store without a word to Lydia, pace picking up as you head towards the mall exit. "I'll pick him up from the hospital before his dad gets there."

"Wait, Allison, I'm alrea-"

You hang up before he can distract you further, shaking as you climb down the stairs to the first floor. You can't let Isaac's father anywhere near him. You don't even think about why he was in the hospital in the first place. All you can think about is getting there, though you're less concerned about the safety of you and the other drivers on the road than you should be.

"I'm here for Isaac Lahey," you say, rushing forward to the Nurse's Station. "What room is he in?"

"Uh, who are you?" the nurse, a pretty black woman who looks barely older than you responds, looking over you carefully.

"I'm his girlfriend," you say without thinking, glancing around the hospital hallways for any sign of Isaac's dad.

"I'm sorry, I can't give you any information unless you're family," she says.

"What kind of stupid rule is that?" you snap furiously, because what the hell? Isaac was a werewolf, he was fine, and she won't even tell you what room he's in.

"Miss, you're going to have to calm do-"

"What's going on here?" another nurse says, coming up to stand next to you warily.

"Where is Isaac Lahey?" you ask angrily. "I know he's here and I know he's awake, so will you just tell me where he is and I'll stop bothering you."

"Miss, I told you, unless you're family, we're not allow-"

"I'll handle this, Denise," the other nurse says, and to your shock she grabs your arm and pulls you away from the Nurse's Station and towards the waiting area.

"What the hell- get off me!" you say, yanking your arm out of her grip. Who the hell does she think she is, touching you like that?

"Who are you?" the nurse demands, crossing her arms over his chest and staring you down. "And what do you want with Isaac Lahey?"

"I'm his girlfr-friend," you change at the last second, not that it does you much good. "And I want to see him."

The nurse just looks at you suspiciously. It's actually a very familiar look and you feel like an idiot for not getting it sooner. Scott's mom worked at the hospital, didn't she? She's the right age and they even look kind of similar.

"Isaac's not here," she says cautiously. "He left."

"He left?" you repeat, unsure of what this means. "By...By himself? His dad didn't pick him up, did he?"

"I can't give you that information."

"Did he or did he not leave with his father?" you say, beginning to get angry at her obstinate behavior. "It's a yes or no question! Did he leave by himself? Scott? Derek?"

Scott's mom's eyes widen at the reference to her son and she looks like she wants to say something for a second, but then it passes and she seals her mouth shut defiantly. You're about to start shouting at her again, when you're phone rings, and instead of Lydia's name (for the third time) it's Scott's.

"Scott," you say shakily, turning away from his mother. "Please, please, tell me Isaac is with you."

"Yeah, he's here," Scott says, and you feel dizzy for a second, like you might sink down to the white tile floor in relief. "The Alpha Pack tried to kidnap him, but some girl saved him. He's unconscious...they tried to do surgery on him, but they tried to kidnap him again, so-"

"What?" you yelp, horrified. "Why would they-Where are you?"

"We're at Derek's place, but Allison, listen to me, he's fine okay? Derek just said there's some internal damage, so he brought him here to heal hi-"

"He's doing-no, I don't want him anywhere near him," you say, starting to get angry again. "Tell me where you are and I'll come and get him."

"No way in hell," you hear Derek's voice come over the line from afar. "She is not coming here."

"Look, as soon as he wakes up we'll meet up, okay?" Scott says, sounding apologetic. "I'll call you."

"Scott, wait, don-" you say, but he's already hung up.

"You have got to be kidding me?!" you say furiously, whirling around to look at Scott's mother, who is watching shocked at your outburst. The only thing that prevents you from saying something sarcastic to her, like "Thanks for your help" is the fact that she's Scott's mother.

Instead you leave without a word, throwing your purse angrily into the passenger seat and resisting the urge to punch the steering wheel when you get back into your car. You're scared and angry at the same time, so many thoughts racing through your head that you can't grab onto any one of them for more than a second. Isaac's dad knew that Isaac was in the hospital. The Alpha Pack had just tried to kidnap him. And some girl saved him? Why? Why was he even in the hospital in the first place? He'd had to have been seriously injured or unconscious for him to end up there. Was it the Alpha Pack? Your parents? What was Derek going to do to him?

You go to the train depot, but as you probably should have have known, it's been abandoned. Derek must have moved somewhere else. You haven't heard anything by one o'clock, so you have to call in sick to work, and instead sit huddled in Lydia's bed while she tries to convince you that eating chocolate and drinking wine coolers will make you feel better. Finally, at three, Scott calls you back. Actually, he doesn't. He sends you a text.

"What. The. Hell." you say, bursting into the backroom of the animal clinic. Derek, Scott, Stiles, and a middle-aged black man you've never seen before are all standing around a ice bath. Isaac is sitting on the exam table, sopping wet, shirtless, a towel wrapped around his shoulders. His lips are practically blue.

"Okay, listen," Scott says, holding up his hands defensively while Derek glowers at you. "Don't freak out-"

"What is going on?" you ask angrily, looking between Isaac and the ice bath in horror. "And who the hell is he?"

"I found Erica and Boyd," Isaac blurts out, but you don't like the way his pupils are blown out and he's shivering like mad.

"You did?" you say, confused. "With an ice bath? Why are you all wet?"

"The alphas stole his memories, so we needed to put him in a dissociative state to trigger his memory," the black man says calmly.

Werewolves can steal _memories_? you think, annoyed at how little you know about werewolves.

"What are you, some kind of witch?" you ask him suspiciously.

Stiles snorts with laughter. "Sorry," he says, when everyone turns to stare at him, gesturing between you and Isaac. "You two are really alike is all."

"I'm a veterinarian," the black man says, looking annoyed.

"Is that a _joke_?" you say, disgusted.

"Look, we don't have time for this," Derek says, glaring at you. "I'm going to get Erica and Boyd."

"And some other random girl," Stiles interjects. "Don't forget about her."

"No, wait, Derek, we need to think about this," Scott says, in vain, because Derek pushes past you, with only minimal aggression, and heads for the exit.

"Hey, are you okay?" you say gently, walking up to stand next to Isaac, completely uninterested in Derek and Scott's argument in the other room.

Isaac nods shortly, in a completely nonreassuring fashion, and ducks his head to shake water out of his hair. You step closer and wrap your arms around him, wincing a bit at how cold he feels. He wraps an arm around your waist tentatively and you lean back a little to cup his face and kiss his ice-cold mouth.

"I'm okay," he mumbles, but he looks very tired all of the sudden.

"Allison, we should go," Lydia says from behind you and you almost jump, because one you forgot that anyone else was in the room and two because you forgot Lydia came with you.

"Yeah, okay," you say, helping Isaac to his feet and rubbing his hair with the towel a bit more, wrapping your arm around his back to steady him.

"But Erica and Boyd-"

"Scott will handle it," you tell him, because you can't really care about that now. You just need to get him out of here and away from all these _other people_.

"He'll be fine," the veterinarian says as you make your way to the door, but cuts short his next sentence when you glare at him. Why the hell did they think it was a good idea to _dunk him in ice water_ right after he'd apparently had internal injuries? You know why Scott waited to call you until now; you'd never have let them do it if you were here.

"-can't just storm in there without a plan!" Scott is saying when you enter the front room, looking extremely concerned. "We don't even know how many of them there are!"

"I don't care," Derek says stubbornly, halfway through the front door. "They've had them for weeks now-I'm not letting them sit there locked up for another second."

"Derek, wait!" Scott says, barreling out the door after him, leaving Stiles looking mournfully after them.

"So," he says turning to Lydia. "What are your plans for toni-"

"Go," Lydia says flatly, pointing at the door.

"Yup," Stiles says easily, and dashes out after Scott.

"Let's go," you say, adjusting Isaac's shivering body against your side and heading towards the door.

"So, you're Allison Argent," the veterinarian says from the examination room doorway. When you turn to look back at him, he's leaning against it casually, arms folded over his chest, looking at you speculatively.

"Who's asking?" you say suspiciously, even though it's probably his name on the door, considering he has run of the place enough to be dunking people in ice baths.

He doesn't answer, just looks at you scrutinizingly, like he's trying to dissect you with his eyes. It creeps you out, so you turn back towards the door and make your exit, because the last place you want to be is trapped in some empty animal clinic with Isaac barely able to stand.

You and Lydia take Isaac back to her house, where you bundle him in blankets and Lydia makes tea after putting his wet clothes in the dryer.

"Allison, I'm really fine," he says about an hour later when you try to stop him from shrugging off the blankets. "I'm a _werewolf_."

"You're still pale."

"I'm _always_ pale."

"Shut up, we're getting to the good part!" Lydia says, smacking Isaac absently on the chest and sitting forward on the couch in anticipation of what you're assuming is the climax of 27 Dresses.

Isaac glares at her, but before he can say anything your phone rings. It's Scott.

"I'll take this outside," you mutter, and then actually go outside, all the way to the other end of the block to prevent Isaac from eavesdropping. You have a feeling you won't want him to overhear this conversation.

"Alright, here's fine," you say shortly. "What's going on?"

"I got Derek to hold off for a bit until we can do some research on the bank, but he's not going to wait long," Scott says, like he thinks you care at all about what Derek's going to do. "How's Isaac?"

"He's fine," you say evenly, unwilling to admit that you're furious at him for keeping you from Isaac. You know why he did it, and he may have saved Erica and Boyd's lives, but you don't have to be happy about it.

"I'm sorry, I didn't call you sooner," Scott says after a long pause, while you stare down at the sidewalk and kick absentmindedly at some fallen leaves. "I couldn't. You and Derek...don't get along, and we needed to figure out if Isaac had found Erica and Boyd. And Isaac agreed."

Of course he did, you think in disgust, not particularly surprised.

"Stay away from my boyfriend," you want to say, but don't, because that's a little too possessive, but also because it doesn't make any sense. It looks like you're going to have to work with Scott in order to stop the Alpha Pack, to save Erica and Boyd. You don't like them, but that doesn't matter. You have to remember that they're two sixteen year old kids, that they've been taken advantage of as much as Isaac, and they've been kidnapped. If you can do something to save them, then you have to. You are not like your parents. You will not stand by and let innocent people be killed, nor will you kill them yourself.

"I understand," you manage to get out after a second, sitting down on the curb and looking across the street to the lawn on the other side.

"Allison, I know you're mad-"

"I'm not mad," you lie, calmly though, but of course you are. It's just stupid and irrational. You'd prefer Scott not think that about you. He probably thinks differently, but you know emotions are a weakness. It's not healthy to bottle them up, but broadcasting them will probably do you more damage in the long run. The more people who know how much Isaac means to you, the more likely it is that someone will use that against you and vice versa. "You did the right thing."

"I...really?" he says hesitantly and you find yourself fighting back the urge to lash out at him for his lack of confidence. You wish he didn't feel the need to make everyone happy. His life would probably be a lot easier.

"Call me if you need any help with Erica and Boyd," you say, wanting to steer this conversation along before you lose your calm and say something you might regret. "I'm not sure how I can help, but I'm a good shot."

"Yeah," Scott says quietly. "I know."

You hang up before he can say anything else-something stupid about trying to find a non-violent solution probably- and head back to Lydia's house.

 

* * *

 

You leave Lydia's house after dinner and get a motel room. Lydia tries to convince you to just sleep over in one of her many guest bedrooms, but you don't like the idea of having to hide from Lydia's mother and you want some privacy.

Isaac could have died today, you realize, curled up in his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart beat, his lungs expanding and contracting. He could have been killed over what, Derek's stupid beef with a pack full of alphas? Why are you even getting involved in this? You feel bad for Erica and Boyd, but saving them is not worth Isaac's life. Not to you. You wonder if it would be for Scott.

"I know you're mad," Isaac says into the darkness, far after you'd thought he'd fallen asleep.

"I am," you reply, trying to sound calm. Except mad isn't even the right word. Betrayed is more like. You just...you wanted him to call you after he woke up. Not just do whatever Derek and Scott told him to. You're not surprised, but you're betrayed. Which, in turn, makes you angry. But then again, practically everything makes you angry. You've been angry for years.

"Well, don't just...say nothing," Isaac says, stiffening under you, his heartbeat speeding up. He sounds scared. "Just say it."

You want to. Of course you want to. Part of you wants to yell at him for being so stupid, for being so reckless with his own life, even if he is a werewolf. But he'd be afraid of you. Anger scares Isaac.

"You should have called me," you say through gritted teeth, and roll off him to face the other way.

"I know," Isaac says quickly and you hear him shift onto his side to face you, but he doesn't touch you. "I know, but Derek was there and you...never mind."

You can finish, you think angrily, clenching your fists uselessly at your sides. What do you think I'm going to do-hit you?

God, you hope he doesn't.

"I just don't understand how you could ever trust him," you say, because Isaac seems to want to have this out now, at one in the morning in a dingy motel room with the lights out so you can't even see each other. Coward. Or maybe you're the coward for not wanting to talk about it at all. About a lot of things.

You just don't understand how he could even bear to be in the same room as someone who did that to him. You can't look at Derek without remembering what he'd done, and he'd only slammed you against your car a couple times. He did far worse to Isaac, and you're pretty sure that wasn't the only time. But Isaac doesn't see it that way. You guess he's probably used to it. Maybe you'd be too if your parents did to you what Isaac's dad had.

"Derek? I...I dunno. He's...okay, sometimes. He's trying to save Erica and Boyd. And Scott's...I trust Scott."

"You do?" you say, sitting up and staring down at what little you can see of him on the bed next to you. "Why?"

He barely knows Scott. Why would he say that?

"I mean...he always seems like he want to do the right thing," Isaac says lamely, not moving an inch from his curled up position next to you.

For who? Everyone really. But that's not the same as wanting to do the right thing for Isaac personally. As far as you can tell, only you want that.

"I thought...I mean, you trust him," Isaac says, unnaturally still. You wish he'd sit up to talk to you.

You don't. But then again, you don't really trust anyone. Or it's never all or nothing. It's all in degrees. Isaac and Lydia are the closest people you could say you trust, but Lydia has skewed priorities and Isaac cannot be trusted with his own well-being.

"I guess," you say, lying back down next to him, because Isaac clearly has a different definition of trust than you.

Isaac says nothing for a very long time. Then:

"Are you still mad?" he whispers.

To your horror, you feel tears brim in your eyes. You can't see his face, but his tone is enough to make you cry. He sounds like a scared child. How could you ever have thought you were mature enough to handle this, qualified in any way? You don't know what to do, what to say to convince him not to be so...so _scared_ all the time. It's enough to make you want to run and hide.

"Allison?" Isaac says, sounding even more freaked out. "Are you ok-I'm sorry, I didn't mean t-"

You crawl over on top of him and press your face into his neck, hot tears spilling onto his skin. After a couple seconds, he hesitantly wraps his arms around you and you focus on breathing deeply to avoid sobbing like a heartbroken idiot.

You're so stupid. How did you think this was going to go?

 

* * *

 

When you wake up the next morning, Isaac is gone. You glance around the room blearily to see that his stuff is still there and then groan hide your head under your pillow away from the morning light. He probably went to get you breakfast. You hate when he gets you stuff. At first it was just after sex, but now it's started to bleed over into the rest of your life. Last week he'd bought you some stupid silver bracelet with a cat carved on it and you have no idea what to do with it. It doesn't look like it was very expensive, but still. It makes you uncomfortable that he thinks he needs to give you things to make you happy. You know you buy him stuff, but that's because he's, well, homeless. It's not the same at all.

You're rinsing out your mouth in the bathroom when he comes back, carrying a bag from the McDonald's down the street and a cup of coffee.

"Hey," he says, looking at you carefully when you come out of the bathroom. "I got breakfast."

"Thanks," you mutter, taking the bag from him and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

He doesn't sit down next to you, but instead leans against the desk next to the TV and just. Looks at you. Ugh. Why is he so weird sometimes?

"Wanna watch TV?" you say, taking a bite out of your McMuffin and gesturing at the TV next to him.

"Okay," Isaac says, and then actually sits down next to you like a normal person.

You find some dumb Friends rerun, and curl up against his shoulder. He seems a little surprised at your affection, but seems pleased and runs his fingers through your hair gently.

"Scott called earlier," he says after a couple minutes of silence. "They got Erica and Boyd out."

"What?" you say, turning away from the TV to stare at him in alarm. "How? Are they okay?"

"Yeah," Isaac says with a shrug, looking strangely unaffected. "Scott said something about a distraction? And that other girl is apparently Derek's sister. Who everyone thought was dead?"

"What-that's-" you say, bewildered by his non-reaction. "What did they want with them?"

"I dunno," Isaac says with another shrug. "Scott didn't either."

"I, why are you-Are you going to see them?" you ask, reaching for his chin to pull it towards you worriedly. Why is he acting like this?

"No," Isaac says, looking uncomfortable. "I told you, we weren't...They found them. It's over."

He looks a little confused about why you're so worried. "You sure?" you ask carefully, because...you like that he doesn't really feel any special connection with them, that he's really yours alone, but it's not exactly the healthiest reaction. And you'd hate to think that he's lying because he wants to make you happy.

"Uh, yeah," Isaac says, raising a quizzical eyebrow at you. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He really does look like he has no idea why he would want to be anywhere other than here, and so you maturely respond to that possibility by throwing yourself at him.

Isaac makes a surprised noise against your mouth, but falls back onto the bed easily. You get rid of your clothes quickly and for a while you revel in the feel of him lying between your thighs, his hands in your hair and broad chest pressed against your boobs. You never hear people talk about this part of sex, how nice it is just to have your bare skin touching someone else's. Isaac is always nice and warm and feels great on top of you. You like how his hands are always moving over your body, touching you everywhere, like he's so hungry for you he doesn't know where to start.

Sometimes, though, it can get a little much.

"Isaac," you groan, panting into his left ear, the one that's kind of weird shaped, clutching his shoulders. "Come _on_."

He's had his fingers in you for a couple minutes now, showing no indication of moving on anytime soon. Isaac has nice fingers, long and smooth, but you're going to throw the pillow at him if he doesn't get his dick in you soon. You don't understand why he likes fingering you so much; it's not like _he_ gets anything out of it. If you didn't know any better you'd think he was trying to annoy you, but he actually does seem unnaturally interested in sticking his fingers...there. Well, that and groping your boobs.

"Isaac," you definitely do not whine when he starts sucking on your left nipple. "Condom. Now."

Isaac raises his light blue eyes from your breast and grins at you deviously, mouth swollen from kissing. It is an annoyingly attractive picture and sends a deep throb between your legs.

"Mmm, gimme a minute," he says, definitely trying to annoy you now, hitching your thighs around his hips so that his boner slides against your inner thigh, but makes no movement to get this show on the road.

"Get up here," you order, yanking on his hair to pull him further on top of you, jostling his fingers inside you so that they press up and-

You make a low moaning sound and clench reflexively around his fingers. Isaac doesn't seem to notice, kissing your neck now, but that was...The pressure just in that spot. It felt _really_ good.

"Wait, don't move," you hiss when he tries to move his fingers elsewhere, grabbing his wrist to keep him still.

"What?" Isaac says, stilling dutifully and looking up at you in confusion.

You have no idea how to explain what exactly he'd done, so you just press his wrist up and squirm down on his fingers, trying to get them to the right spot again.

"Yeah," you groan when you manage to find it, one of his fingers brushing against it far too-gently. Your cheeks suddenly feel very hot, and you lean back against the bedsheets and find yourself on the verge of panting, your breasts aching even though he's lavished quite a bit of attention on them already. Shit.

"Here?" Isaac says, sounding confused, poking at you with two fingers without much finesse

You roll your eyes and grab the back of his neck for some leverage you grind down on- _yes_ , just like that. "No, not like, just sort of rub right... _uh_."

You close your eyes and moan quietly as he does what you say, hips working in counter-rhythm to get just the right amount of pressure. You can feel him watching you and it should be embarrassing, but you're too preoccupied with the sudden pleasure to think about that. Is this the g-spot? You were starting to think that it was an urban myth.

You moan louder when he starts mouthing at your boobs again, and all of the sudden you realize your clit is _on fire_. Shit, you think, clutching the back of his neck harder, indecision flooding through you, because you want, but should you-? You've never felt the need to...not in front of _Isaac_.

Screw it, you think as Isaac adds another finger and hits what you're guessing is your g-spot in just the right way. You need to touch yourself or you're going to explode. You need to come, _now_ , and embarrassment is just going to have to wait.

Once you reach down and start rubbing your clit, it takes you barely thirty seconds to come, squeezing over and over around Isaac's fingers and moaning embarrassingly loudly. Heat courses through your whole body, starting between your legs and spreading everywhere else, so wet that you're practically leaking onto the sheets. You keep your eyes closed, but you know Isaac is staring at your hand working between your legs, and he swears when your thighs clamp around his hips and his dick rubs against your upper thigh.

You slump back onto the bed when you've finished riding out the waves, little tremors causing your feet to jerk helplessly.

"Uh," you groan, bring up your arm over your eyes to avoid looking at him, surprisingly exhausted. You're not usually this worn out after an orgasm, but right now you feel like you could go right back to bed.

Isaac groans quietly and you peek up when he rolls off to the side. He has his hand around his dick, working it quickly, though he freezes in embarrassment when he realizes you're watching him. You'd like to say something funny, something to ease the tension, but you can't really think of anything and instead look up at his face and lean over to kiss him. You realize he probably really wants to fuck you right now, but you're way too exhausted for that. You feel bad, so you tentatively reach down to touch his dick, causing him to gasp into your mouth.

You roll over onto your side for better leverage and carefully pull his hand off and replace it with your own. It feels kind of weird, especially since he's leaking, but he makes nice sounds that he tries to hide in your neck and jerks against you helplessly, gripping your hip tightly. You'd never really thought much about giving him a handjob, other than it seemed awkward, but it's not as gross as you thought it'd be.

"Uh, shit, _Allison_ ," he whimpers after a minute, and then comes, which, okay, that's pretty gross, and you grimace and wipe your hand on the sheets while Isaac buries his nose in your hair and breathes heavily.

So, you think while Isaac strokes at the skin on your hip absentmindedly, fingers still shaking slightly, that was fun. You'd pretty much given up on getting off during sex, so it's nice to know that you're not completely broken.

"Was that, um," Isaac says shyly before you can think of what to say, leaning back to look at you cautiously. "Good?"

"Yeah," you say awkwardly, cheeks burning, and reach down to drag the covers over your naked bodies. You come back to lie next to him very close, your foreheads almost touching, and he hesitantly puts his arm over you.

It's very nice, lying like this. Maybe it should be awkward, your faces so close together, but you've always felt less awkward looking into to his eyes like this. It always feels like you're the only two people in the world.

"I'm really tired," you tell him, letting your eyes slide shut. "Can you wake me up before noon?"

"Yeah, okay," Isaac says fondly, pulling you closer and kissing your cheek. You fall asleep to the sounds of his quiet breathing and the TV in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have liftoff! Please comment!


	14. We are the fire, we see how they run

“What's wrong?” Ted asks you, coming into the backroom and clearly noticing you glaring down at your phone.

“Nothing,” you say, more bad-temperedly than you probably should. Ted found out you were sneaking in Isaac so that he could shower in the locker room and hadn't told your boss after all. He's an okay guy, even if he does wear a purity ring and talk about his church volunteer group too much.

You stick your phone back in your bag, grab your red float and head back outside, the text still floating in front of your eyes.

_Can I talk to you after work today?_

Which would be fine, except for the fact that it's from Scott. Which probably means it's about the Alpha Pack. And could he be any more cryptic?

It's been a week since Erica and Boyd were rescued, and you haven't had any contact with either of them, or Scott. You knew you'd eventually get drawn into whatever mess is going on again, but you hoped it wouldn't be so soon. It'd be nice to get a break for once. And you'd...you'd been reconsidering if you should get involved at all. Maybe if you and Isaac just stayed out of it, they'd ignore you.

Scott won't stay out of it, though.

“Hey,” Scott says, getting up from the concrete ledge he's sitting on by the pool's entrance when you come out after your shift is over. He's wearing a black tanktop and jeans, but for some reason he seems very naked. You try not to look at his biceps. “You get my text?”

“Yeah,” you say, and try to ignore the twinge of guilt when you realize you didn't respond. “What happened?”

“What happened?” he repeats, looking confused. “Oh, no, nothing new, I just wanted to talk with you about something.”

“Okay,” you say, raising your eyebrows expectantly, a little annoyed at him for making you worry that something bad had happened.

“Um, can we go somewhere?” he asks, looking uncomfortably at a group of happy middle school girls passing by you to get into the pool.

“Okay,” you sigh, and try not to look exasperated. You just want to get this over with. It's uncomfortable being alone with him.

You walk down the sidewalk a bit to the unofficial picnic area outside of the pool. It's sort of gross, weeds sprouting everywhere from the cracks in the pavement and the benches look like they might collapse if you so much as put a drink on top of them. You can't imagine anyone actually eats here.

“It's about Isaac,” Scott says awkwardly, to your surprise, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I was wondering why you didn't want his dad to find out he was in the hospital.”

That's it? He came here specifically to talk about that?

“That's not really any of your business,” you try to say as politely as possible.

This, unsurprisingly, does not deter him. “It's just that I asked my mom about it and she said when they called him he refused to come in,” Scott presses, looking extremely serious. “Why would he say that? What's going on with Isaac and his dad?”

His dad is a disgusting piece of shit who deserves a knife to the gut and a long slow death, you think.

“I don't know,” you lie, inwardly wincing a bit when you realize of course he'll be able to tell.

He almost looks disappointed in you.

“And then,” he continues, an edge to his voice now. “At Derek's, after Isaac woke up, Derek asked him where he was living and Isaac said “Around.””

Shit.

“So?”

He scowls. “What do you mean, so? What's going on? Did his dad kick him out? Is he _homeless_?”

“That's not really any of your business,” you say again, quietly, and fold your arms over your chest uncomfortably. You don't want to be having this conversation, especially with him. There's nothing he can do, so what's the point?

“ _Allison_ ,” he says, looking stupidly betrayed. “This is...I mean, is he okay? Why isn't he living with his parents?”

The worst part about it is that you really do want to tell him. You want him to know that Isaac wasn't some dumb teenager who thought being a werewolf sounded fun and that's why he said yes to Derek. He said yes because he thought it would keep him safe from his father's fists.

“Look, this doesn't have anything to do with you,” you tell him, aware that you're confirming his suspicions by refusing to give him a straight answer. “I'm handling it.”

He does not look reassured. In fact, he looks more than a little annoyed, but he presses his lips together tightly instead of pressing you further.

“Okay...” he says dubiously, looking irritatingly conflicted.

Why do you even care? you want to ask him. He barely knows Isaac. They seem to get along better now, but it's not like they're friends or anything. And you have a lot more important things to deal with than Isaac's housing situation.

“Is that it?” you say, more harshly than you mean to. You want to be done with this conversation.

“Yeah, that's it,” he says quietly, worry still etched into his expression.

“Okay, call me if anything happens,” you tell him tersely, and then turn to leave.

It's such a relief when he doesn't call after you.

 

* * *

 

 You think that's it, that it's over, but you probably should have known better. You're hanging out with Isaac at the library on your off day a couple days later when Isaac says: “So, I sort of had a weird conversation with Scott the other day.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Isaac kind of really likes Scott. You don't really understand it, but he seems to look up to him and as far as you can tell, in his eyes Scott can do no wrong. It doesn't really make sense-they barely know each other. You know they meet up once and a while to discuss the Alpha Pack and as a result Isaac talks about him _all the time_. It is extremely annoying.

“Yeah?”

“He...asked me to live with him.”

“What?” you say, turning to look at him in shock, but he's idly picking at a thread on the bean bag he's sitting on and avoiding your gaze. “What did you say?”

He does look up at you at that. “No?” he replies, looking vaguely confused. “I mean, c'mon, I couldn't...with his mom, you know...”

“Yeah,” you say quickly, relieved that he realized what a terrible idea that would be. The relief quickly turns to anger though. What was Scott thinking, offering something like that when there was no chance of delivery? What if Isaac said yes and he got his hopes up all for nothing?

“I think he just wanted to help,” Isaac says, no doubt noticing your angry expression. “He just didn't really think it through, I guess.”

You lean forward give him an awkward one-armed hug. “I'm sorry,” you mutter, irritated at Scott's interference.

“It's okay,” Isaac mumbles into your shoulder, sounding a little embarrassed. “I don't really know why he asked anyway. We're not friends or anything.”

He sounds a little sad about that and you tamp down your annoyance at the fact that he wants the attention and approval of other people. It's really not fair.

Instead, you focus most of your anger on Scott. What an idiot, you think derisively. How could he ask some homeless _werewolf_ teenager to come live with him and his parents and think it would all work out?

“You have to convince Isaac he should come live with me,” Scott says when he calls you a day later.

“Scott, he can't _live with you_ ,” you say angrily, sitting back in your desk chair and glaring at your laptop screen. “You should never have asked him that-I told you to _stay out of it_.”

“Why not?” he says, sounding genuinely confused, and God, this is a disaster, you can't believe he doesn't understand why it would never work out. “I mean, Allison, he's sleeping in an empty _warehouse_. What is he going to do when it gets colder?”

_Isaac_. Why would he tell him that? You need to have a talk with him about not encouraging Scott's well-meaning, but ultimately useless interference in his life. You know he wants to be friends with Scott, though you don't really understand why he decided that all of the sudden, but he should know better than to start telling Scott everything about his life. He better not tell him about his dad. God knows what he would do with that information.

“Well, what about, you know, your _mother_?” you say cruelly, clenching your phone unnecessarily hard next to your ear. “You think she's going to be okay with some homeless teenage _werewolf_ moving into her house?”

“Uh, yes,” he says. “I mean, I asked her and she said it was okay.”

“What?” you say after a pause, because that's... _what_? _"_ _Why_?”

“Because he's homeless?” Scott says, sounding just as bewildered as you feel. “And I mean, we have an extra room that used to be my dad's office.”

What is wrong with your family? you think. It isn't just Scott who's too nice for his own good apparently. It's his mom too.

“I...” you say, completely thrown, because never in a million years would you have suspected that Scott's mom would be fine with some random teenage boy moving into her house. Your parents would never do that, and to be honest, you agree with them. How could Scott's mom feel safe, agreeing to let some stranger live in her house? “What, what about your dad?”

“My parents are divorced, he doesn't live with us.”

Is this really happening? you wonder, your heart beginning to pound, and you sit up straighter in your desk chair. Could this really work? You desperately want it to, because, _God_ , Isaac deserves to sleep in a bed and have someplace to shower, but he has two more years of high school. He couldn't stay there that entire time, could he? Scott's mom couldn't be willing to make that sort of commitment, not when you don't think she's ever even _met_ Isaac.

“Scott,” you say carefully. “I...my parents know Isaac's a werewolf. And if they find out he's living with you...they might start to suspect you too.”

“Yeah,” he says without pause. “I guess, but we can deal with it if that happens. I just...I mean, he shouldn't be _homeless_.”

You agree, of course, but you still feel wary. This seems too good to be true. You want to warn him of the risks, that maybe his mom won't like Isaac or your parents might start poking around, but you don't. You want this to work.

“Allison?” he says when you're quiet too long.

“Let me think about it,” you hedge, biting your lip, because this cannot be a snap decision, no matter how much you want it to be.

“Okay,” Scott says, surprising you by not pushing.

“I'll talk to you later,” you say, and hang up before he can say anything else that will distract you. You have a lot to think about.

Are you being naïve? you think that night, staring up at your bedroom ceiling. Is there a chance this could really work or are you kidding yourself? Letting your feelings for Isaac cloud your judgment. It's two years until he's out of high school, a year and a half until he's eighteen. That's a long time. If it doesn't work out...

Nothing. He'll just be back to square one. Isaac deserves to have a bed, access to running water, a permanent place to stay without worrying about a new shipment of goods coming in or your parents or the Alpha Pack. Even if it's only for a little while, it's worth it. You can do this.

 

* * *

 

 “We should not be doing this here,” Isaac groans into your neck, unhooking your bra and smoothing his hands down your bare back.

“Shut up,” you tell him with a grin and pull him further back on the bed in one of Lydia's many guest rooms.

“If they hear-”

“They're on the other side of the house, they're not going to hear,” you tell him, tugging at his belt. His objections would probably be a lot more believable if he wasn't trying to push your jeans down your legs.

Isaac groans when you pull him down on top of you and you grab the headboard to stop it from hitting against the wall when he starts fucking you, the sounds of your gasps very loud in the dark room. Still, it's very doubtful that Lydia or her mother will hear you. And to be honest, as long as you're not obnoxious, you don't think they'd care that you're having sex. Neither of them seem to have the same misgivings about teenagers having sex that your parents definitely do. Which is good for you and Isaac. In general, though, you're not too sure.

“Umph, _Allison_ ,” Isaac grunts in your ear, adjusting your legs around his waist. He takes his left hand off your boob and slides it down your stomach between your legs. “Uh, here?” he asks, thumbing your clit hesitantly.

“Uh, don't worry about it,” you tell him, letting go of the headboard and pulling him down to kiss you.

“But, I can, if you just...is this okay?” he says between kisses, pressing down on your clit like he thinks it's a button.

You turn your head to the side automatically when he starts kissing your neck, but you can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes. He is not going to be able to get you off. You have a hard enough time getting yourself off sometimes and expecting him to just magically know the exact pressure and rhythm to make you come is completely unrealistic. You don't understand why he cares anyway. You're not Lydia; you're still going to sleep with him if he can't get you off.

“Isaac, it's fine,” you groan as he touches you far too gently to actually do anything. “I'll do it later, just...don't worry about it.”

“But,” Isaac says and then actually _stops_ , pulling back to look at you with a confused frown on his face. “I want to...you know. If you just show me...”

Oh, my God, you think. Is _this_ why women fake orgasms?

“Just,” you say in frustration, trying to get him to start moving again. “It's not going to happen. I just have to do it myself.”

“Oh,” Isaac says, looking disappointed and you have to hold back the sudden anger at this reaction. It's _your_ body. It's got nothing to do with him. “Can you, can you show me then?”

You stare at him incredulously, because the look on his face shows that he clearly doesn't understand how weird of a request that is.

“Just, leave it,” you say in frustration and squeeze around him to distract him.

“Ngh,” Isaac grunts, eyes fluttering shut with pleasure and face reddening even further. “Cheater.”

“Come. On.” you order, reaching down to get him moving again, because, seriously, you ache, except you end up grabbing his ass instead of his hip. It's kind of weird and you almost let go, but Isaac moans and thrusts into you helplessly. Huh.

“Don't do that, c'mon,” he says and then rolls you over so that you're on top. You groan at the change in angle and brace your hands on his shoulders, hair falling down and getting in your eyes briefly.

He grabs your hip with one hand and tentatively fingers at your clit with his other. “Just let me...just tell me what to do.”

“Really?” you say, glaring down at him, exasperated when he grips your hip to keep you from riding him. “That's what you want to do right now?”

“Yes,” Isaac says back stubbornly, though the uneven timber of his sex voice and his sweaty face kind of ruin the effect. “Tell me what to do.”

Shit, you think as your muscles give another spasm, completely involuntary this time, because that, with that look on his face, with him under you, that _really_ turns you on.

“Ugh, fine, c'mon,” you say, while Isaac throws back his head and moans, because you want this terrible conversation to be over. Who stops having sex to talk? Who does that? “Just rub here, no, your pointer finger's fine and harder. Okay, yeah, that's good.”

It's nice, you guess. The pressure on your clit certainly isn't bad, but it's not great. It's frustrating and makes you want to pull his fingers away and do it properly, but Isaac comes before it gets unbearable, leaving you squirming uncomfortably next to him while he pants into your neck. Mostly it makes you really, really want to get off. You usually wait until you get home to masturbate, but right now you're ridiculously wet and you don't think you can wait until you get home tomorrow morning. Damn him, this is probably what he wanted all along.

“C'mon,” Isaac pants, rolling over muzzily to kiss your boobs and resuming his useless rubbing between your legs. “Show me what to do.”

“Fine,” you say furiously and pull his hand away from you clit. “Do something useful with those, like before.” You spread your legs and little and resist the urge to moan when he gets his fingers inside you. It's not as good as his dick, but at least it's _something_. “Now just, do what you did befo- _uh, hah_ , yeah, that's...”

You know he's watching you, which you hate, but you reach down and rub your clit just the right way, so wet it's kind of hard to get any decent friction.

“C'mon, c'mon,” Isaac says lowly, lapping at your nipples and squeezing your boobs with his free hand. Your eyes are screwed shut with concentration, but you know he's watching you, dammit. Probably enjoying your idiotic expression because he's a dick like that. “C'mon, just-”

You're loud when you come. You practically wail and dig your nails into his left shoulder, arching your hips up for more and squeezing over and over again around his fingers. And it's...it's good. Really really good. It's like your entire body has lit up, every nerve overloaded with pleasure.

You feel ridiculously lightheaded when you sag back against the pillow, and have to blink a couple time to clear your vision. _God_. You're exhausted, but you kinda want to do it again.

“Shit, do you think they heard?” you say in horror, sitting up to look at the closed doorway of Lydia's guest room warily, heart still hammering in your chest. God, that would be so humiliating. Lydia would never let you hear the end of it and what if Lydia's mom-

“They're both still asleep, c'mere,” Isaac says, pulling you back down and kissing you quickly. He looks very happy, throwing an arm over your waist possessively and stroking your hair behind your ear.

“What?” you say, bemused by his triumphant grin. He's not usually like this after sex; usually he's very quiet and falls asleep shortly after you're done.

“You were really loud,” he says with a snort of laughter and a smirk, groping your ass and leaning over you to nip at your neck. “Bet you we'd have gotten a noise complaint at the motel.”

Shame floods through you and you feel your face burn with humiliation. You seal your lips shut to prevent yourself from saying anything that would make things worse and stiffen up when his lips touch your neck. You're such an idiot. God, he probably thinks you're such a slut. You knew this was a bad idea. It was better to remain in control and get yourself off in peace than making a fool of yourself in front of him.

“I'll be right back,” you say when he pulls back, pushing yourself out of bed and heading into the bathroom without even stopping to pick up your clothes.

You pee and then just sort of sit helplessly on the toilet seat, trying to not to cry. Stop being so emotional, you tell yourself, rubbing your eyes furiously. It doesn't matter, it's done. You know better than to do it again now.

You don't want to go back out there. You want to go home, to the safety of your room, and God, that's ironic. Usually you can't stand being there, but now you yearn for the idea of being left alone. Maybe if you stay in here long enough he'll be asleep when you come out and you can sneak out. It's mean to just leave him there, you know, but the idea of facing him makes you feel like you're going to throw up.

You wipe away the slick between your thighs and flush for lack of anything better to do and then sit down against the wall next to the bathtub miserably. You wish you had your clothes. The tile floor is really cold.

You rest your head on your knees and try to breathe through the sudden crushing misery in your chest for a while. You hate that you feel this way. It doesn't make sense. But you can't help it. You just feel so humiliated.

“Allison?” Isaac's voice comes through the door after a couple minutes, followed by the soft rapping of his knuckles. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” you say and then cringe at how weak your voice sounds.

“Are you...are you going to come out?” he asks hesitantly.

“In a bit,” you say, managing to sound normal this time, looking up at the ceiling in an attempt to prevent your eyes from watering.

There is silence for a couple seconds and then you hear the doorknob turn. You look away from the door at the lavender shower curtain so you don't have to look at him. He doesn't say anything for a moment and then you hear him slowly approach you, sitting down next to you under the towel rack.

“Allison,” he says when you don't acknowledge him, sounding worried. “What's wrong?”

You let your head fall against his-clothed-shoulder, surprising even yourself. It's easier than you thought to be around him. As long as he's not mocking you.

“I feel really stupid,” you whisper and immediately regret it. You never regret the things you don't say. You should know better by now than to open your mouth.

“Why?” Isaac says, sounding confused.

You laughed at me, you think. Except he didn't. Not really. He hadn't meant to, which probably means it didn't count. But still, you were so _loud_. Isaac is always quiet, even when he comes. It's so humiliating.

I think I have more intimacy issues than I previously thought, you think. You wonder if your therapist could tell you what's wrong with you. Not that you could ever tell her about this, even if you weren't worried about your parents finding out about you having sex.

“I thought,” Isaac says hesitantly. “Did I do something wrong?”

You close your eyes and shake your head against his shoulder.

“No,” you whisper, because if you talked any louder you think you'd start to cry. “I'm kind of messed up.”

He tentatively wraps his arms around your shoulder and you let him, sagging against him and hiding you face in his neck. “It's okay,” he says.

It's not, but you let him walk you back to the bed and wrap you up in the 400 thread count sheets. You don't feel the desire to be alone anymore-on the contrary, you want to curl up in him as much as possible-and you're not worried that he thinks you're badly of you anymore.

But you still feel stupid.

 

* * *

 

 You feel better in the morning. You're a still little embarrassed, but now mostly because of your overreaction last night. For a while you don't do anything but lie on his chest, your upper body rising and falling with his. It's eight in the morning and Lydia and her mother will probably be up soon, so if you want to talk it has to be now.

“Isaac, wake up,” you say, propping yourself up over him and shaking his shoulder.

Isaac's body gives a little panicked jerk and his eyes snap open alarmingly fast, but he relaxes when he sees it's you smiling down at him.

“Hey,” he says hoarsely, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and looking away from you. “What time is it?”

“Eight,” you say, frowning at the fact he won't meet your gaze.

“Okay,” he mutters and rolls over away from you so he can sit up.

You stare at his back, heart dropping when you realize what he's doing. Suddenly, you can see the next few weeks quite clearly: Isaac refusing to touch you, avoiding your gaze, and in general being miserable because he thought he did something wrong. And you can't have that.

You shift forward without thinking much about it and wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your still-naked body against his clothed back.

“Hey,” you murmur, feeling him tense up. You kiss his ear and drop your hand down to the morning wood in his boxers. It's funny how you used to be so disgusted by it.

“Allison, what-” he says, stiffening at your touch (in more ways than one.) “What are you- _uh_.” He takes a sharp breath. “Mm, okay, that's... _Allison_.”

You touch him like that for a while, kissing his neck while he shakes and breathes heavily, and then pull him around on top of you. You're not...totally in the mood, especially after last night, but you know you can't leave it like this. You have to fix it .

Isaac kisses you hungrily for a few moments, but then he pulls back and starts his mantra of _Are you sure? You really want to do this? We don't have to. It's okay if you don't want to._ He hasn't said anything like this in months and it annoys you, especially because you know you're the cause.

“Yeah, I'm good, c'mon,” you say tightly, pushing his shirt up to his armpits. He raises his arms dutifully and lets you pull it off, but he looks worriedly down at you, lips curved in an uncertain frown.

“C'mon,” you tell him, tugging him back down on top of you and kiss him, because it's the only thing you can think of to do. You grope at the nightstand for the condoms, but the lube is in your purse on the floor. And, well...you're definitely going to need that.

You end up having to get up to get it and when you turn back to the bed Isaac looks even more anxious than before, face tight with worry.

“C'mon,” you say, as gently as possible, sitting down next to him and kissing him. “It's fine.”

“It is?” Isaac says, looking at you like he doesn't understand you at all. “Because last night you were really...”

You feel your cheeks flush in shame and you glare down at the bedspread, too uncomfortable to look at him. Why did he have to bring that up? Why can't he just do what you want for once instead of always... _talking_. You know he wants to fuck you. Why does he always pretend he doesn't?

“I was just...embarrassed,” you admit finally, forcing the words out between gritted teeth.

“Why?” Isaac says, ducking his head down to look into your face, sounding bewildered.

You just were? It's different for Isaac, you know, which is why it's probably so hard for him to understand. Isaac likes being told what to do, being held down, losing control. You...don't.

You shrug and kiss him, sidling up close to him on the bed. “Can you just,” you say, breaking the kiss and pressing your forehead against his. “Please?”

It physically pains you to get the word out, but Isaac melts immediately, face going very soft. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, and then down onto the bed, stroking his hands down your sides gently. Impatient, you pull his boxers off and wrap your legs around his waist.

“God, Allison, I-” Isaac moans, grabbing for the condom.

“C'mon, just-” you say in frustration, gripping at his shoulders. “Just hurry up!”

Isaac shuts his mouth and keeps it shut. He doesn't say anything even when he starts fucking you, and he presses his face into your neck and doesn't move his hands from your hips.

This is not fixing it, you realize in annoyance, clutching his head with one hand and his shoulder with the other. At this rate it's just going to make it worse. So you think, screw it, and give him what he wants, taking his right hand and drawing it down between your legs, guiding it to just the right pressure.

It's pathetic how much it actually works. Isaac raises his head and looks down at you with renewed interest and you have to close your eyes to get away from his fascinated look. You vaguely wonder if he'd be able to tell if you faked an orgasm, but that doesn't end up being necessary. The second you feel it building up between your legs, causing you to grip his hand and push it down harder, you clamp your mouth shut and press you face into his shoulder to prevent the mistake you made last night.

Still, it's good, even better than last night in some ways because he's still hard and inside you and you get to clench around him over and over as pleasure courses through you. It seems to last longer too, and by the time you fall back onto the sheets your toes ache with curling for so long. You gasp for breath, feeling lightheaded and dizzy, and it takes you a second to register Isaac moaning and thrusting into you harder. And that's actually, ow, kind of uncomfortable, and you pull his hand off your clit with a wince. Thankfully he comes with only a few more thrusts, a shocked “ _Allison!_ ” ripping itself from his mouth before he collapses on top of you with a grunt.

You blink dazedly up at the ceiling and try to breathe as calmly as possible, even though it feels like you can't get enough air into your lungs. Wow. That is definitely the way to do it.

“Oh, my God,” Isaac moans into your neck and you can't help but agree.

After a minute things start to get uncomfortable and you worry that the condom's going to leak, so you push on his shoulder to get him off you. Even that takes effort and you find yourself way too exhausted to even sit up while he ties off the condom and throws it in the trash (you have to remember to take that with you when you leave.)

“Okay,” you say when he comes back to lie down next to you. “Wow.”

Isaac's face breaks into a grin and he pulls you over onto your side to kiss you. You're both bright red and sweaty, even your chest and stomach are red with exertion, and you don't think that's happened before.

“See?” Isaac says smugly as you wrap an arm around his side and sag into his shoulder, heartbeat still fast. “I told you.”

You grumble in response and then smile when he pulls the covers you'd kicked down to the end of the bed up around you.

He ducks down to kiss you, cupping your face in his hands and he's still grinning when he pulls back to look at you. With a twinge, you realize you've never seen him so happy after sex.

You told Scott you'd convince Isaac to move in with him, but you can do that tomorrow, you think, snuggling into him further. You've had enough drama for one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More dysfunction! But, hey, at least Isaac is going to move in with Scott. Please comment!


	15. See how they run, lift me higher, let me look at the sun

“-so then Tim tells this guy that he's better off buying plastic cleats because a lot of leagues around here ban metal and the guy freaks out,” Isaac says, drying off his hair with one of the generic white pool towels and tossing it into the hamper on the other side of the men's locker room. “He starts lecturing Tim about how plastic cleats are for kids and how he's not going to let him make a fool of him, and Tim's just looking at me like 'please help' but I'm not getting in the middle of that, but he's being so obnoxious that finally Bill-”

“I think you should move in with Scott,” you blurt out, gripping the metal bench under you to steady yourself.

Isaac turns around from where he was trying to get his curls in order in front of the bathroom mirror. “What?” he says, face contorting in confusion. “Wh-I can't. You know I can't.”

“That was before he said his mother said it was okay,” you tell him, crossing your legs uncomfortably. Your boss let you close today, so the pool's abandoned and no one's going to get mad at you for being in the men's locker room or interrupt you. Privately you think he's kind of an idiot trusting you with that- you're seventeen, and therefore prone to doing stupid things like sneaking in your homeless werewolf boyfriend so he can use the showers.

“So?” Isaac says, showing absolutely no surprise at this information.

“You _knew_?” you say, gritting your teeth angrily. “You didn't tell me that.”

“I didn't think it mattered,” Isaac says defensively, pulling his jeans on quickly. “I mean, Allison, c'mon. I can't just _move in there_.”

“Why not?” you ask, hurt that he's determined to keep things just as hard as they've been these past few months. “His mom said it's okay!”

“Yeah, that's what she says _now_ ,” Isaac says, looking confused and hurt too, for reasons you can't fathom. “But, c'mon. It's not like she's going to let me live there forever. Eventually she'll kick me out and then I'll...” He bites his lip, struggling to keep his face impassive. Isaac's always been terrible at remaining impassive, though, and you can quite clearly see the sadness he keeps trying to hide. “It's better if I don't...try that.”

He does have a good point. It's unrealistic to expect Mrs. McCall to let a homeless teenager stay in her house for two years. But you knew that.

“Okay, yeah,” you acquiesce gently. “But you should still do it. I mean, even if it's only for a little while you'd have a bed, running water, air conditioning. Scott seemed kind of worried about the winter, so that's at least six months. Just think about it like a break. I just-” To your horror, you find your eyes burning with emotion. “I want you to do it. I want you to have those things, even if it's just for a bit. You should...you deserve that,” you finish awkwardly.

Isaac looks like he doesn't know what to say to that, looking off to the side and rubbing the back of his head.

“But,” he says, avoiding your gaze. “I can't...It's just not a good idea.”

“Why do you kee-”

“He likes you,” he says miserably, looking up at you with a defeated expression on his face. “If I moved in with him...we'd have to break up.”

“No, we wouldn't,” you say, frowning at this assumption. “Scott's not like that.”

“He's not going to let me live with him if I'm with the girl he likes,” Isaac scoffs, like he thinks it should be obvious.

“Uh, _no_ ,” you say, standing and crossing your arms over your chest stubbornly. “Scott's not like that.”

He looks at you dubiously. He's the one who likes Scott so much, why doesn't he understand this? Who does he think Scott is, _Derek_?

“But, I mean, your parents know about me, right?” he says, shifting uncomfortably. “If I move in with him-I mean...I don't want them to find out about him. I don't want him to...you know. Get hurt.”

It's a reasonable concern, but you're too distracted by the warm glow in your chest to register it. You just feel such a sense of relief that Isaac _understands_. That he knows that Scott is just... _good_ , and must be protected. To be on the same page on that...you're so grateful.

“I don't think they're really paying all that much attention,” you say truthfully. “Since, you know, Gerard. And anyway, I don't think they'd suddenly assume Scott is a werewolf too. Just probably think you're friends.”

Isaac pauses for a second to mull this over.

“I...you really think it's a good idea?” he asks you hesitantly, and for a second the absolute trust he has in you throws you.

“I do,” you say waveringly, and God, you hope you're right. “This is a good thing. It'll be safer, too, you know, with...everything.”

Your parents, surprisingly, have been completely inactive since Gerard's death, which they've been spending most of their energy investigating. Your father seems to think that Gerard crossed the wrong people, another group of hunters maybe, and has been contacting connections throughout the country to see if they know anything (good luck with that). You know they're still keeping an eye on Derek, and were suspicious at Erica and Boyd's disappearance, but as far as you know they haven't made any moves against him since May, probably because Derek's stopped biting people. But that will change once they find out that the Alpha Pack is in Beacon Hills.

“Okay,” Isaac says in a very small voice, his shoulders hunching.

“I'll call Scott tomorrow,” you tell him and he visibly relaxes at the reprieve. “You ready to go?”

 

* * *

 

You take him back to the warehouse, which has thankfully cooled down, so it isn't unbearable to be in. You have no idea how Isaac has gotten any sleep at all this summer. You squeeze next to each other in his sleeping bag and Isaac strokes your hair idly, nuzzling your neck every once and a while. It's nice, but you can feel the desperation in the slight shake of his hands. Isaac tries not to be needy-he doesn't do a very good job of it, but he does try-but you wish he wouldn't. You understand why he thinks it's a turnoff, and it probably is for most people, but it's not for you. You hope he'll realize that he doesn't have to hold himself back. Objectively you know that the way he nuzzles at you like a dog is kind of gross, but it still gets you wet, so.

You cup his face to kiss him and pretty soon you're stripping out of your shirts and kicking off your jeans. Isaac settles on top of you, kissing and kneading at your boobs, and you tilt you head back and breathe heavily in the dark. It'll be different when he starts living with Scott, but you still plan on getting a motel room every once a while. You will not give this up.

“Isaac,” you groan when he moves down and starts kissing your stomach. “What are you doing, come on.”

Isaac shows no interest moving back up to get the condoms and lube and instead keeps kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin of your belly. It's nice, you guess, if not a little ticklish, but at this point you're too turned on for foreplay and you just really want him to fuck you already.

“Isaac,” you hiss and grab his hair, pulling his head up to look at you.

He grins lazily, squirms out of your grip, and to your utter surprise, ducks his head down under the top flap of the halfway unzipped sleeping bag.

“What?” you say in confusion, staring at the shape of his head underneath the sleeping bag. “Isaac, what are you-”

And then he _licks_ you, right...right _there_. You squeak in shock and your legs give a violent jerk, but he just grabs the bottom of your thigh to spread them further and licks at you again.

“Oh, okay, Isaac...that's...” you stammer, your hips automatically pushing up for more, because it actually feels really good. Which is...really weird, because it's his _tongue_ , but his insistent licking over you, and then _into_ you is shockingly arousing. It seems gross and embarrassing...but you suppose it's not like he can see anything under there in the dark.

You let your head fall back onto the pillow with a soft moan and gasp sharply, squirming under his mouth until your face feels so hot you're worried you're going to explode and your boobs begin to ache from lack of attention. And they're not the only thing that aches, your clit is on fire, because Isaac, as the typical male, is more interested in sticking things into you.

“Isaac,” you groan, reaching down under the sleeping bag flap and tug his hair slightly upward. “Just...c'mon, like-”

Thankfully Isaac seems to get it without forcing you to explain what you want and you whimper helplessly for a second before you clap your hand over your mouth to stifle the noise when he gets his mouth on your clit.

He licks it, sucks on it, tongues it with quick patterns, leaving you helpless but to grip the sleeping bag beneath you with your free hand and spread your legs wider, hoping he won't stop.

It's shockingly good; your hand is wet with saliva and your throat hurts from trying to suppress your moans, but it's not enough. You need something else.

“Isa- _hah_ , oh shi-it-Isaac, get up here now,” you manage to get out, scrambling for the condoms in your purse lying next to your head (you are not going to need the lube). “I need you to...I need you to-”

Isaac makes a muffled questioning sound against you and you arch and have to bite your lip at the effect the vibrations have on you.

“Up,” you order, grabbing his hair and push the condom into his hand. You see the brief flash on Isaac's teeth in the dark and then hear the sound of him ripping open the condom wrapper and groan in relief.

You let out a sharp cry when he pushes into you and wrap your arms around his shoulders to pull him in as close as possible, because you need, God, it's-

“Uh, Allison, are you-?” Isaac says, freezing.

“Move,” you groan, hooking your ankles around his lower back.

Isaac is more than happy to do as he's told, pressing his still-wet mouth against your neck, and you come pretty much ten seconds after he starts rubbing your clit with his thumb.

You're loud again, even though you press your face into his shoulder, and you can't quite muffle your desperate whimpers as you clench your way through another great orgasm. Your voice echoes around the empty warehouse and God, you hate it, why do you have to sound like a porn star? Why do you have to be so _loud_ , can't you just keep your mouth shut like a normal pers-

Isaac loses his rhythm when you sag back in exhaustion and grips your hips hard, pulling them up when you limp legs start to unwind from his back. You wince as he thrusts harder, grunting and moaning quietly into your shoulder. He's not touching your clit anymore, but it still doesn't feel great, hurts really, and you wish he would come already.

He doesn't, though, and you let an involuntary pained hiss when his rough thrusts start to get too much.

“Allison?” Isaac gasps, pulling back to look at you with pleasure blown pupils. “Wh-What's wrong?”

“It's fine, it's just,” you say, squirming around to try and find an angle that won't hurt as much. You feel bad for ruining things for him when he just made you feel great, but it really is kind of painful. “Are you...are you close? It's just a little-”

“Uh,” Isaac says, looking conflicted, and then pulls out slowly.

You try not to let your relief show on your face and reach down as soon as he strips off the condom to finish him off.

“Mmm,” Isaac says after he comes, panting into your boobs. His mouth is still wet. He should probably wipe it before your...whatever...dries, but bringing it up seems awkward. Part of you still can't believe he just _stuck his tongue inside you_. And clearly enjoyed it, which is just really, really _weird_. Why would he-it's _gross_ for one, but it's not like it's any fun for him. Why would that even cross his mind? He'd better not expect you to return the favor, because you've already humiliated yourself enough for one day. The memory of your loud cry echoing around the warehouse is practically ringing in your ears and you try to keep your face impassive as you feel your cheeks begin to burn in shame. God, Isaac was probably right about the noise complaint at the motel thing. Was this going to happen every time, because you'd just rather not come then. It's already bad enough that Isaac has to hear you; you couldn't stand it if other people did and _laughed_.

“Allison?” Isaac says, lifting his head off your chest. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I'm just tired,” you say quietly, closing your eyes so you don't have to look at him.

“Hey, don't be embarrassed,” Isaac says, squirming up to lie next to you and cupping your face in his hands. “I like it when you're loud.”

You open his eyes to give him an incredulous look. He _likes_ it? You know you like when he moans your name, but he's not nearly as loud as you are. You sound obnoxious and ridiculous and... _undignified_. How is that at all attractive?

“It's hot,” he says with a grin, and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

I'm glad _you_ find it attractive, but I still don't like it, you think passive-aggressively. But you have to admit you feel a little relieved that he doesn't seem inclined to make fun of you.

“Okay,” you say dubiously.

Isaac's face falls a little. “Um...was it, was it not good?”

“No, it was good,” you mumble, face burning. “I just don't really like to be...to act...like that,” you finish, unable to find a word to describe your behavior other than “stupid.”

“But...doesn't that mean it's good?”

Yeah, but can't it be good without you moaning like a whore?

“It was good,” you repeat quickly, remembering that you shouldn't be making this all about you. “But you don't...have to, like, it's not a big deal if you don't...I mean, I don't mind.”

You were perfectly happy having sex with him without getting off. It's really, really nice, you totally get it now. Sex is even more awesome than you thought it was. Ted is totally missing out with the weird virginity pact thing. But you know you're a lot of work, and you don't want him to have to worry about that, or feel like he has to get you off just because that's what always happens in the movies.

“What?” Isaac says, propping up his arm on his elbow, look confused.

“Like, you don't have to go...to do that again, if you don't want to,” you say, waving your hand in a quick vague gesture as his mouth and feel your cheeks burn again.

“Uh, _no_ , I want to,” he says, looking at you like you're the weird one.

“Oh,” you say and then get the urge to duck under the sleeping bag, because you can't think of anything else to say.

“I really like you,” he tells you pointedly.

“Okay...” you say, confused, because he's saying it like he thinks you don't know that. “I mean, I like you too...obviously.”

“And, so...” he says, raising his eyebrows pointedly.

“What?” you say, rolling onto your side to look at him more closely, your knees knocking together under the sleeping bag. Why doesn't he just say it?

Isaac groans and leans forward to press his face into your neck, throwing an arm over your waist.

You don't really understand, but at least you're done attempting to have a conversation about sex. It feels nice to have him against you like this, and you stroke your hands through his hair gently.

Everything is going to be fine. Isaac's going to move in with Scott and actually be able to sleep in a bed and eat food that isn't crappy Mexican take-out. The Alpha Pack will be dealt with, your parents will drop their investigation into Gerard's murder, and you'll start your junior year without stress. Everything will work out, you just have to focus on that. And the naked boyfriend in your arms.

“Hey,” you say, feeling suddenly energized, shaking Isaac's shoulder a bit and stretching out your sore legs happily. “Round two in five minutes?”

“Oh, I _love_ you,” Isaac says with a grin, lifting his head to kiss you, which is super gross, but you're just glad it keeps you from having to say it back.

 

* * *

 

Scott's house is bigger than you thought it'd be. You can't imagine his mother makes much as a nurse. It's pretty average for Beacon Hills, but you couldn't be more intimidated sitting parked in front with Isaac. You've already been here a minute and neither of you have made any attempt to get out of the car.

“We should probably get out,” Isaac says tensely. You wonder if Scott can tell that you're here and Isaac doesn't want him to know how freaked out you both are, because he's so white you don't think he's saying it willingly.

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice very flat. You feel sick, like you might throw up your breakfast. You don't think you've ever been so nervous in your life. Not when you had to present your third grade science fair project in front of your entire class, not when you accidentally broke your mom's vase playing catch with Kate in the living room, not when you planned your grandfather's murder. Your hands shake when you open the car door and step outside. Isaac does the same, heaving the duffel bag that contains all of his worldly possessions over his shoulder.

You feel even worse walking up the path to his front door, like you can't get enough air into your lungs and you know you're sweating like a pig.

What if this ends up being a disaster? What if Scott's mom changed her mind? What if she hates Isaac and doesn't even let him stay a week? What if your parents fin-

“Hey,” Scott says with the grin, opening the door only seconds after Isaac pressed the doorbell. “You made it!”

Because you totally didn't know we were there the entire time, you think dubiously, but attempt a smile. “Hey.”

Isaac doesn't say anything, just nods awkwardly.

“Come in,” Scott says cheerfully. Well, maybe cheerful isn't the right more. It's more like he's trying to be positive to be reassuring, since you and Isaac are probably transparently freaked out. “Can I help carry anything in?”

“No,” Isaac says, after a second of confusion. “This is it.”

Scott's face falls for a second, but then he smiles again without skipping a beat. “Okay, well, your room is upstairs, and my mom's-”

“Hi, Isaac,” Scott's mom says right on cue, walking into the hallway carrying a laundry basket. “Glad you made it.”

“Hi,” Isaac says shyly and you frown a little at her familiarity with him. When did they meet?

“And you're Allison, right?” she says, looking at you a little less warmly.

“Yeah,” you say, trying not to bristle at her wariness. You were sort of rude to her at the hospital after all. You hardly made a good impression.

“Why don't you come into the kitchen and we'll all talk,” she says with an easy smile, but you feel the urge to vomit come back in full force. You don't want to talk. You thought this was settled. What is there to talk about? Oh, God, has she changed her mind?

“About, like, the floorboard that's loose on the stairs,” Scott says quickly, when neither you or Isaac respond, frozen in terror. “And how you have to jiggle the toilet after you flush it or it keeps flushing.”

“Why don't you get settled first?” Scott's mom says, looking a little worried at your reactions.

“Okay,” you say, so relieved for the reprieve you could cry.

Isaac just nods, not seeming to trust himself to speak.

“Okay, up here,” Scott says, with a forced cheerful tone. You and Isaac follow him up the stairs and you know that he must hear how fast your heart is beating, how it takes all of your energy to walk calmly up the stairs behind him.

“Uh, here,” Scott says after you pass a messy bedroom that can only be his, gesturing into a small room.

There's an empty desk in the corner, a standalone lamp next to it, and an air mattress inside, but nothing else. The room is mostly empty and very clean- if you had to take a guess, you would say that it was probably being used as a storage space and they cleaned it out before you got here.

“Sorry about the air mattress, we don't have anything else,” Scott says almost guiltily, glancing at Isaac for his approval.

“No, it's perfect,” Isaac says, voice tight with suppressed emotion.

It's not perfect, not at all. You don't like the idea of him sleeping on an air mattress-you've never slept on one before, but they seem uncomfortable, only a step up from a sleeping bag-but beggars can't be choosers. You wonder how much a bed is. Maybe you should buy him one.

“Okay, well I'll let you unpack,” Scott says, even though Isaac only has one bag, clutching the door frame briefly as he backs out of the room and into the narrow hallway. “Shout if you need anything.”

You turn to look at Isaac when he's gone. Isaac has his hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

“You okay?” you murmur, aware you're not going to be able to have a private conversation in this house.

“Yeah, I'm...” Isaac mutters and then takes a couple steps over to the air mattress and carefully sits down on top of it. It sags bit under his weight and to be honest you're not entirely sure he'll fit on it, but he smiles up at you hesitantly. “This is good.”

You don't end up staying much longer than that because your parents call you about going grocery shopping on your way home from Lydia's and you have to run out of there and do that so they won't get suspicious. You keep texting Isaac the entire day though, so much that your parents get mad at you at the dinner table.

Isaac mostly just responds that he's doing fine and that Scott's mom is really nice. None of it is at all informative, and you spend the day jittery and nervous, counting down the hours until tomorrow afternoon when you'll see him after work.

“How was it?” you ask him immediately when he climbs into your car, waving absently at one of his coworkers.

“It's fine,” he tells you, looking a little bemused at your concern. “They're really nice, but I didn't really spend much time around them. Panera's?”

“What do you mean?” you ask, frowning as you head out of the strip mall parking lot and to the Panera's a couple blocks away.

“I just stayed out of their way, you know,” Isaac says, wriggling out of his uniform shirt. “I just left in the morning and took the bus to the library. I don't want to just hang around there doing nothing.”

You guess that's probably a good idea, but you thought...you were hoping that maybe it could be more than just-

But that was stupid, probably.

“Okay,” you say, giving him a quick smile. “You'll never guess who came to the pool today. _Finstock_ , and he was wearing this gross-”

 

* * *

 

Things change a little after Isaac moves in with the McCalls, of course, but not as much as you thought they would. You and Isaac still spend most of your free time together, occasionally with Lydia, who is bored out of her mind without any beach parties to go to. She gets you some fairly convincing fake IDs and takes you to a couple bars downtown where a lot of the college kids home for summer vacation or are in Beacon Hills for their internships hang out. It's fun, even though Lydia keeps trying to convince you to come with her alone for a “girl's night.” Also, her tendency to have one night stands makes you extremely uncomfortable. It's not that you're some weird prude against casual sex, it just doesn't seem safe, her taking strangers home with her. Not to mention her type seems to be tall, blond, and mid-twenties, because she is apparently “done with teenage boys”- men who clearly have no idea she's underage. Or worse, maybe they do.

“Don't worry, I know what I'm doing,” she says dismissively, when you hesitantly bring it up one night when you're watching another terrible romantic comedy and Isaac is in the bathroom. “I don't want a boyfriend right now, I want a distraction.”

Can't you find distractions who aren't almost a decade older than you? you think worriedly.

“Oh, Allison,” she sighs patronizingly when she sees the look on your face. “You just don't understand. I know you and Isaac are practically married, but not all of us are interested in serious relationships while we're still so young.”

“We're not married,” you grumble, even as you realize you're getting distracted from your original point.

“You spend all your time together and you're disgustingly in love with each other,” Lydia says, rolling her eyes, brushing her hair to the side and leaning further back into the couch. “You have no idea the pain I go through being the perpetual third wheel.”

“You think we're in love with each other?” you ask, giving her a strange look. You thought Lydia would be more realistic than that. “We're in high school.”

“True, but I don't know if you realize this, but you don't exactly have the most normal high school relationship,” Lydia says, taking another sip of her Cosmo. “Most high school couples don't financially support each other.”

That's probably true, you think, but Lydia isn't done.

“They just make-out a lot and have terrible sex,” she continues matter-of-factly, taking another drink. “How is that going, by the way?”

“Lydia,” you hiss, mortified, because you are not talking about this with her, but also because just because Isaac is down the hall doesn't mean he can't hear you.

“You never give me any details,” she complains. “Please tell me he's at least making an attempt to get you off.”

“We're fine,” you say lowly, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “I'm not talking about this.”

“I take that as a no,” Lydia says, looking unimpressed. “Want me to give him a few pointers?”

“No! It's...it's fine, we're good,” you choke out, unwilling to inform her that yes, you actually are coming during sex, and that Isaac even weirdly enjoys going down on you, considering he's done it, like, the last four times you've had sex.

Lydia looks deeply skeptical, but fortunately Isaac comes back before she can interrogate you more about your sex life, no indication that he'd been listening to your conversation on his face, and you're given a reprieve.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks before the start of school, you've just finished dropping off Isaac at the McCalls at about nine at night and are headed out of their neighborhood when you see Scott's mom coming from the other direction.

“Hey,” she says through her open window, pulling up next to you in the middle of the road. “Just dropped Isaac off?”

“Hi, uh, yeah,” you say awkwardly, rolling down your window and looking at the missing driver's side mirror on her car for a brief second before meeting her eyes. Is it even legal for her to drive like that?

“It's good that I caught you like this, I had a question to ask you,” she says, not seeming to realize your discomfort. “Can we talk for a minute?”

“Okay,” you say, mouth going dry, and pull over a bit onto the side of the road by the nearest street light. She does the same and you get out of the car in trepidation, palms beginning to sweat nervously. What does she want to talk to you about?

“Are you free sometime this week for dinner?” she says, walking across the street to stand next to you by your car. She's wearing a pair of light blue scrubs-you guess she must have just gotten off work, her hair frazzled and dark circles under her eyes. “I'm not sure if you know this, but Isaac seems a little...uncomfortable being in our house and I thought that if maybe both of you had dinner with us then he'd feel a little more welcome,” she says kindly, smiling at you reassuringly.

That sounds like a terrible idea, you think, for some reason made uneasy by her kindness. It's reaction you also have around her son, but it's somehow amplified. Maybe because the difference between her and your own mother could not be more apparent.

“I'm not sure what my schedule is,” you hedge, swatting at a mosquito that tries to land on your shoulder.

“I really think that it might make him feel a little more at ease,” Scott's mom presses, clearly sensing your hesitation. “I know he's trying not to get in our way, but we really would like for him to make himself at home. I can't make it home for dinner every night, but he's welcome to eat with Scott and I think he's showering somewhere else, which just seems...a little unnecessary.”

You agree with her on the last point. Isaac is still showering in the men's locker room at the pool and you thought it was a little overboard, but you didn't want to press him about it because of how nervous he seems to be at the prospect of overstepping himself. But more than anything you feel your throat start to close up and your eyes to burn in gratitude for her kindness. This is exactly what you wanted for Isaac, to be around people who didn't just tolerate him, but actually cared about his well-being. Your parents would neve-

“I can try to talk to him, but I'm not sure me coming over is a good idea,” you say carefully, trying very hard not to let your voice waver.

“Why not?” she asks, confused.

Did Scott tell you nothing about me? you think, which okay, you suppose would be a rather awkward conversation to have. Hey, Mom, can this random homeless werewolf live at our house? His girlfriend's family is trying to kill him, but don't worry, she killed her own grandfather, so she's cool!

“I'm not really someone you want around your son,” you say, trying to sound as reasonable as possible, and not like you're some self-esteem challenged teenager begging for attention.

Scott's mother looks concerned for a second and then her expression morphs into pity. Which, great, was totally not what you were going for.

“I'm sure that's not true,” she says gently. “Scott says you've tried very hard to help Isaac after Derek kicked him out. That's burden no one your age should ever have to carry.”

You have no idea what to say to that.

“Why don't you come over Wednesday night?” she says when you don't respond. “I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook, but my spaghetti isn't bad. See if we can't get to know each other a bit.”

You're not going to like what you find, you think, but you say “O...okay,” instead, inexplicably shy.

The McCalls must have some aggressively kind voodoo that makes people want to do what they say, you think on your way home, anxious and annoyed at how easily she got you to say yes.

“How was your day?” your own mother asks you perfunctorily when you open the front door and kick off your flip flops.

“Good...” you say, inwardly sighing at having to take part in another awkward conversation and walk into the living room to see her and your father sharing a bottle of red wine.

“What did you and Lydia do?” your father asks, as always, because he disapproves of your friendship with Lydia. If not for the fact that they think she's your only friend, you're pretty sure they would try to dissuade you from hanging out with her on account of her being “ _that_ kind of girl.”

“Just hung out at her house and got dinner later,” you say vaguely, looking down at your nails instead of at them.

“You spend a lot of time at her house, but she rarely comes over here,” your mother says, raising her eyebrows at you pointedly. She's leaning against the couch, one arm over the back, managing to look relaxed and dignified at the same time, makeup as perfectly done as Lydia's, though a lot more subtle.

Yeah, wonder why?

“You'd know why if you saw her house,” you say, and attempt a grin.

Your parents look a little irritated, but you suspect it stems more from their annoyance at the nouveau riche than the fact that you don't bring Lydia Martin over more often.

“I'm going to head upstairs,” you tell them, trying not to watch your mother take another sip of blood-red wine, her perfectly sculpted lips leaving a mark on the glass behind.

“Good night,” your father says and your mother just nods at you leisurely, unperturbed ~~uninterested~~ in your abrupt departure.

Scott's so lucky, you think as you go upstairs, realizing that your reluctance to be around his mother is probably rooted in envy. It must be nice to have a parent you can completely and utterly trust.

 

* * *

 

Dinner at the McCalls is...weird. It's not because they're not as rich as your parents, more laidback and friendly, or that Scott's mother is a single mom. You've been over to friends' houses with similar qualities or situations Before. They're both just so... _nice_. It doesn't even make sense. Neither you nor Isaac has done anything to deserve such kindness. They don't _know_ you, or Scott's mom doesn't. The things Scott does know about you are mostly bad, and you keep catching yourself trying to figure out what their angle is, even though you know they don't have one.

“Would you like some more mashed potatoes?” Scott's mom asks you, holding up the plastic bowl questioningly.

“Yes, please,” you say politely, even though they're obviously from a box and have far too much garlic in them to make up for the cardboard flavor. She clearly was not lying when she said she wasn't much of a cook, but you've gotten used to no one being able to cook as well as your parents (though Lydia's cook could probably give them a run for their money) so it's not like you're majorly disappointed or anything.

“So, Isaac, Scott tells me you're on the lacrosse team too?” Scott's mom says from the head of the table with a smile, trying to get a conversation going.

“Uh, I was,” Isaac says, visibly uncomfortable and hunched in his seat next to you. You feel bad for him and are annoyed at his oversensitivity in equal parts. “I quit, though, because...”

“Yeah, Finstock was really mad,” Scott says quickly, in an attempt to cover Isaac's awkward trailing off. “You should join again when school starts. It'd be cool to play together and you were good even before you became a werewolf.”

Isaac raises his eyes frown his plate where he was pushing his spaghetti around with his fork to give Scott a confused look across the table. “Uh, not really,” he says truthfully.

“Hey, man, you actually played once and a while, which is more than I can say,” Scott says self-deprecatingly.

“Isn't lacrosse only in the spring?” you ask, trying to steer the conversation away from Isaac. It would be nice if Isaac could play lacrosse again, you know he really liked it, but that's not going to happen. He has a job now.

“Yeah, we do cross-country in the fall,” Scott says, taking a big bite of spaghetti.

“Do you play any sports, Allison?” Scott's mom asks interestedly.

“No,” you say, far too flatly. “I mean, I used to...I used to do archery. And gymnastics. But then I quit.”

“Oh, that's too bad,” Scott's mother says awkwardly, unsure how to respond to your abruptness.

Not really, you think bitterly, considering it was all a ploy to train me to hunt and kill people like your son.

You take another bite of spaghetti to avoid having to say anything else and there is an awkward pause.

You've been running lately, though. In the woods, alone, though you tell your parents you go to the gym with Lydia. It's always a pain working yourself up to it, but you always feel much better afterward. Like everything is clearer. It's nice to have some time to yourself too, and if you run fast enough you don't have to think.

“Anyone want dessert?” Scott asks, even though neither of you have finished your meal yet. “We have some ice cream in the freezer, I think.”

“Uh, no, that's alright.”

“I'm good,” Isaac says quietly.

“How about fruit salad?” Scott's mom asks, getting up and heading out of the dining room and into the kitchen. “I have a cantaloup and I think I have some strawberries and blueberries somewhere here.”

“Er, I might have eaten the blueberries,” Scott says guiltily.

“No, it's fine, Mrs. McCall,” you say uncomfortably, leaning over the table a bit to watch her digging through the fridge. She wants to make you fruit salad right now?

“Oh, God, don't call me that,” she says, standing up and turning around to look at you. Oh, shit, you think, of course, she's _divorc_ \- “Just call me Melissa.”

“Uh, okay,” you say, confused. She couldn't really expect you to call her by her first name, could she? That was so... _rude_. You're seventeen and she's an _adult_. Your parents would never let a kid ca-

“Hey, Allison and Scott, why don't you two clear the table, and Isaac, can you help me with this cantaloup?”

You and Isaac glance at each other skeptically, but get up obediently, while Scott beams unnecessarily brightly for someone just told to clean up after dinner.

“Hey, thanks for doing this,” Scott says while Isaac and his mom wash and cut up fruit in the kitchen.

“Okay,” you say lamely, because why is he thanking you? He's the one who's housing your homeless boyfriend. _You_ should be thanking _him_.

“So what classes are you taking this year?” Scott asks you conversationally as you stack your water glasses on top of each other.

“Uh, Pre-calc, Physics, French, US History, English, I don't know what else...” you say, glancing into the kitchen to check on Isaac. He's standing next to Scott's mom at the sink, holding a bowl of washed strawberries hesitantly. You can't see his face, but his shoulders are tense and he's clutching the bowl like he's afraid he might accidentally drop it.

“Have you done the English reading yet?” Scott asks excitedly and you turn to give him an odd look, because school doesn't start for another two weeks.

“Uh, no, haven't even looked at it.”

“The Longest Journey was my favorite, but I also liked Great Expectations, though it takes a while to get into it,” Scott says, hoisting the stack of plates up in one hand and a handful of silverware in the other. “White Fang was really weird with the whole werewolf thing, and Absalom, Absalom! was just really depressing. I'd avoid the Hemingway ones, though, I have no idea why he's so famous.”

“Wait, did you read the entire list?” you ask him, heading into the kitchen to put the dishes next to the sink. “I thought we just had to pick two.”

“Yeah, I know, I just couldn't stop once I got into it,” Scott says sheepishly, and you're annoyed to find yourself charmed against your will. Despite his less than desirable circumstances, he's always so positive. You're a lot better off than he is, but you don't think you could ever be like that. You envy him. You also find it sort of...cute.

“Isaac started the Longest Journey yesterday,” Scott informs you, putting the dishes in the sink after his mother has finished washing the fruit and moved it to the cutting board next to the stove.

You turn to look at Isaac, who is throwing away the strawberry heads and see his cheeks flare red with embarrassment.

“How is it?” you ask, inwardly wincing at your clumsy attempt to draw him into the conversation.

“Um, okay, I only read the first chapter, though,” Isaac says, looking between you and Scott hesitantly.

“Well, you have time, school doesn't start for another two weeks,” Scott's mom says, throwing the last pile of cantaloup in the glass bowl. “That looks about done, Scott, can you get the-”

Scott is already opening one of the wood cabinets and pulling out four plain white ceramic bowls. Melissa grabs the spoons and they move back to the dining room in an awkward group.

It must be weird only having one parent, you think as Scott's scoops out helpings of fruit salad with a yellow plastic ladle. Especially one so nice as Scott's mom. Of course it seemed natural to Scott to ask his mom if a homeless teenager could and live in their house.

You end up talking about school while you eat dessert, which is a surprisingly safe topic. It's easy to talk about, even for Isaac, and when you exhaust the list of classes you three are taking next year, you move on to complain about your teachers.

Isaac still seems pretty nervous about the whole thing, but he does offer his opinion every once and a while. It's definitely an improvement from the awkward start, though he flinches away when you try to kiss him goodbye outside next to your car, widening his eyes in alarm even though Scott is back inside helping his mother with the dishes.

You think...you think this could really work. It's clearly going to take a while for Isaac to get used to them, and you guess you really can't blame him for being careful, but Scott and his mom are just so _nice_. It'll be good for Isaac, to get to have that.

He deserves it, finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for Scott and Isaac living together! Now they will be forced to interact, mwahaha. Please comment!


	16. Look at the sun and once I hear them clearly, say

“Anything new to report since we last saw each other?” your therapist asks during your next session, smiling placidly.

Well, my homeless boyfriend moved in with Scott McCall. It seems to be going well, except for the fact that he's sort of terrified of them. Also, he's, like, weirdly obsessed with getting me off during sex and it makes me really uncomfortable. Especially because he's suddenly really happy and excited about sex now, which he wasn't before at all. Making me realize that maybe the fact that he wouldn't initiate anything before was kind of a warning sign. How does that make me feel? Really _annoyed_. I don't like the idea that he needs validation, that his happiness depends so much on my body's...whatever. I don't like losing control, which apparently extends to disliking really great orgasms. I'm a control freak, because my parents raised me that way, and even though I sort of hate them I can't seem to stop. Please fix me.

“I don't know,” you say instead, shrugging uncomfortably. “I've just been working a lot.”

“Made any new friends at your job?”

“No,” you say flatly.

“So what have you been doing outside of work this summer?” she asks, like she's actually interested in the answer.

“Just...I dunno, hanging out with Lydia.”

“What kind of things do you do?”

“Watch movies, go to bars.” You stop in horror as you realize you shouldn't have said that. “I mean, not _bars_ bars, but like restaurants, with-”

“I'm not a police officer, I'm not going to get you in trouble,” she says, amused. “And all of this is confidential. I'm not allowed to say anything to your parents either.”

“Okay,” you say dubiously, glaring at a picture of a kitten on the forest green walls of her office, annoyed at your own stupidity. “I don't...I don't drink a lot or anything. Just sometimes.”

“When you hang out with Lydia,” your therapist says, but not like she thinks Lydia is a bad influence on you like your parents do. “Do you like going to bars with her?”

“Yeah, they're okay,” you say, because it is sort of nice to get out of the house and be around other people, even though you never talk to any of them. “She's more into it, though. She meets a lot of guys there.”

“And you don't?”

“No,” you say scornfully. “They're all _old_. I don't understan- she just...does dumb stuff sometimes.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Like have one-night stands with strangers in their twenties,” you say and your therapist raises her gray eyebrows a bit. “Yeah.”

“And you're uncomfortable with this?”

“Well, yeah,” you say, trying not to get annoyed at her utter lack of opinion on the matter. You know it's her job not to be judgmental, but you hate how obvious it is that she's just trying to get you to talk. “It's stupid, for one, not to mention _illegal_. Like, she looks older, so I'm pretty sure half of them think she's in college, but it's like she doesn't even understand how dangerous it is.”

“Have you tried talking to her about it?” your therapist asks you mildly.

“Yeah, but she just blows me off,” you say with a shrug. “It's not really any of my business either. I dunno, her parents raised her wrong.”

“What do you mean?” your therapist asks innocently, taking the opening masterfully.

“They're divorced,” you explain shortly, not wanting to give her anything to psychoanalyze and try to turn the conversation around to talk about your relationship with your parents. “And never around. As far as I can tell, they let her do pretty much anything. I think she thinks she's an adult, even though she's sixteen.”

“That's not uncommon for teenagers,” your therapist says, making a note on her yellow notepad. “Have you tried explaining to her the dangers of this kind of behavior? It might have never even occurred to her that going home with adult men she doesn't know could be dangerous.”

“I don't think she'll listen,” you say, imagining Lydia rolling her eyes at you. “She's kind of a slut.”

Your therapist frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, she does this a lot,” you say with a shrug. “She's not going to believe me when I say it's dangerous when nothing bad's ever happened before.”

Your therapist nods in understanding and makes another note on her notepad. You steal a quick glance at the clock and are surprised to see that your session is almost halfway done. It usually doesn't go this quick.

“Well, it can't hurt to try, but I'm glad you realize that other than express your concern, you can't control her. She's her own person and the impression I'm getting from the way you talk about her is that she's very strong-willed.”

Yeah, that's an understatement.

You spend the rest of your session talking about the upcoming school year and your plans for college. She seems pleased that you've resolved to pay more attention to your grades this year, though less pleased about your anti-social behavior. Still, you manage to convince her that your pills are working and then head back home to avoid your parents' awkward questions about how therapy is going.

 

* * *

 

You go to pick up Isaac at Scott's house later in the afternoon and notice that Stiles's jeep is in the driveway when you pull up to the house. You park and text Isaac to come out, but he neither answers nor comes out and after a couple minutes you're forced to get out of your car and make your way up the lawn in trepidation. You ring the doorbell and hope Isaac and only Isaac will open the door, but of course you're not that lucky.

“Hey, Allison!” Scott says, pulling the door open with a grin. “You here for Isaac?”

Who else would I be here for? you think bad-temperedly. You're not mad at him-there's nothing to be mad at him _for_ \- it's just always so awkward being around him.

“Yeah, he's here, right?” you ask.

“Yeah, we're playing video games, you wanna come in?” Scott asks good-naturedly.

You do not want to come in, but short of yelling at Isaac to come out, it seems like you're going to have to. You step inside and follow Scott into the living room, where Stiles and Isaac are playing Call of Duty and insulting each other's game play.

“This is just pathetic,” Stiles is saying from one end of the couch while Isaac sits on the floor at the other. “I could shoot better than you when I was _five_.”

“You play a lot of video games when you were five? No wonder you're such a spaz,” Isaac retorts, not looking away from the screen, at you or Stiles, as he speaks.

“Shut up,” Stiles snaps. “At least I'm not _cheating_.”

“I'm a _werewolf_ , I'm not cheating!”

“How long have they been like this?” you ask Scott when it becomes apparent that neither Isaac nor Stiles have noticed your presence.

“Uh, since this morning?” Scott says with a wince. “Believe it or not this is an improvement.”

The player on the left side of the screen climbs to the top of a roof and starts shooting soldiers down on the street below with a sniper rifle, their heads exploding in unrealistic splatters of blood. Suddenly you're on the roof of the abandoned apartment building in the warehousing district, your sniper rifle trained on Gerard's head. You pull the trigger and his head explodes like in the video game, all blood and brains and bone-

“Hah, see that!” Isaac says triumphantly, punching his fist in the air. “Your move, Stilinski.”

“Allison?” Scott says quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you say automatically, even though all of the sudden you feel sick, your heart racing in your chest. You feel lightheaded and your throat is very dry as you try to swallow. You frown, not sure what just happened. “I...”

“Here, c'mere,” Scott says and pulls you out of the living room and into the kitchen by your arm. “Sit down.”

You sit at his kitchen table and blink furiously, trying to get the image of Gerard's broken body out of your vision. Your chest hurts and you take slow breaths, trying not to panic.

“Allison?” Scott says, sounding very far away. He sits next to you and looks into your face carefully with worried brown eyes.

You close your eyes. “I'm okay,” you say numbly, willing it to be true. “Just a head rush.”

He can tell you're lying, of course, but he's nice enough not to contradict you. He doesn't say anything else either, just sits with you until you don't feel like your chest is going to implode anymore.

“I'm fine,” you say finally, clearing your throat and sitting up straight, even though you still feel a little shaky.

The sound of an explosion comes from the television and Scott winces, getting up. “I'll go get them to turn it off,” he says.

“No, don't,” you reply, grabbing his arm to keep him in place without thinking about it. “It's...it's fine,” you finish awkwardly, not sure how to let go of his arm, so you just keep holding on.

He blinks at you in confusion and you feel your face flush. What are you doing, this is so weird, why are you just holding onto him like thi-

There's movement at the end of the hall and you drop his arm automatically. “Allison?” Isaac says, coming into the kitchen. “I didn't hear you come in.”

“You were a bit preoccupied,” you say, raising your eyebrows pointedly. “Did you win at least?”

“Yeah,” Isaac grins triumphantly.

“He cheated!” Stiles yells from the living room.

You end up staying there for the rest of the afternoon, even though you planned on picking Isaac up and going out to eat. Isaac seems a lot more comfortable being in Scott's house than the last time you were here, though he is careful not to even brush his arm against you in front of Scott. Conversely, you have to fight the urge to curl into his side, as if that could somehow stem your weird attraction to Scott. Besides that it's actually not as awkward as you thought it'd be, hanging out with Scott and Stiles socially instead of meeting briefly to plot against your parents. You wonder if Lydia would want to come. She doesn't seem to like anyone but you (and especially not Stiles) but you know she's been lonely this summer, probably the first time in her life she's been without a large group of friends. Stiles would probably be a lot more friendly if she was here, instead of giving you and Isaac annoyed looks like he thinks you're trying to steal his best friend.

“Oh, hello,” Scott's mother says, coming in halfway through your movie, carrying two large brown grocery bags. “Are you all staying for dinner?”

You look at the clock on the wall and are shocked to realize it's after six. “Uh, no, I'd better get going, my parents'll be waiting for me,” you say, getting to your feet.

“Well, you're welcome to in the future,” Scott's mom says, shifting the bags slightly. “Scott, can you help me with the groceries?”

“Sure,” Scott says and gets up as well, heading for the front door. You follow him into the front hall and slip on your flip flops while he crams on his tennis shoes.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” you tell Isaac, who nods at you from the couch instead of getting up and kissing you goodbye like he usually would. You suppose that would be awkward in front of Scott's mother, but you still wish he would.

“We should do this again,” Scott says as you make your way to your car parked on the side of the road. You turn around to see him picking up two grocery bags out of the back of his mother's car. “Maybe invite Lydia? I can't promise Stiles won't embarrass himself, but I'll try to reign him in.”

“Okay,” you say, even though you know you shouldn't. You wonder what he'd do if you backed him into the side of his mother's car and kissed him.

What is wrong with you? you think, dismayed at your traitorous urges. You have a _boyfriend_!

“I'll see you tomorr-I mean, I'll talk to you later,” you stammer, and turn away before you can give yourself away.

 

* * *

 

Lydia is not particularly enthused about hanging out with Scott and Stiles, but she doesn't fight it when Scott invites you to see Captain America a couple nights later. It is a terrible movie-Lydia spends the entire time muttering under her breath about the historical inaccuracies and you fall asleep halfway through out of sheer boredom- but the boys seem to enjoy it well enough and it's nice to spend time together in a group, like you used to do with your old friends.

Or at least it's nice until Scott gets a call from Derek about the Alpha Pack right as the credits are rolling, waiting for the special after credits scene that Stiles insisted is a must-see. Derek's been attacked and he and Isaac leave right away. You spend the entire drive home hyperaware of your phone, waiting for either of them to call, and it only gets worse when you return to an empty house. Two hours go by as you pace around your room and call Isaac three times, Scott and your parents once. You're just about to give up and get in your car and drive around looking for them when you hear your parents pull into the garage.

While you're glad that they're safe, their surprise at your awakened presence after midnight and their vague excuse about being at a really noisy restaurant as to why they missed your calls makes it clear they were doing something hunter-related. You spend the next half an hour curled under your comforter staring at your phone, chest tight with fear that they might have even _killed_ your friends tonight and you wouldn't even know. When Isaac calls you almost start sobbing in relief and fumble to answer it.

“What's going on?!” you demand, quietly even as you're upset. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, we're fine,” Isaac says, sounding exhausted. “Well, Derek got a pole through his chest and Erica, Boyd, and Cora got thrown around a bit, but we didn't actually make any contact with the Alpha Pack. We actually...uh...talked to your parents.”

“What?!” you say, sitting up and clutching your phone tightly in the dark.

“They know about the Alpha Pack...and we sort of have a truce with them?” You hear Scott say something in the background. Are they driving home? No, that can't be, they'd both come to the theater on Scott's new bike. “Yeah, your parents are pretty intense, but they said they wouldn't come after us anymore as long as Derek didn't bite anyone. I think they realize that the Alpha Pack is the greater evil.”

That surprises you, but you can't see past the most glaringly worrisome aspect of this new information. “Did they find out about Scott?”

“No, Scott hid when we heard them coming,” Isaac explains, and you feel your chest loosen slightly in relief. “But...we know...we know what they want now.”

“What?” you say, dread coming back in full force.

“Derek,” Isaac says hollowly. “To kill his pack and join them.”

You feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up. “Does that include you and Scott?” you ask sharply.

“I...” Isaac says, sounding taken aback. “I don't...I don't know.”

Great. You think you might throw up. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to remain calm.

“Allison?” Isaac says hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

No, no, not at all. You thought you were done with this when you killed Gerard. Why aren't you done with this? Why can't he be safe?

“I'm fine,” you say shortly, aware that Scott is probably listening to your conversation. “It's late, we should meet and talk about this tomorrow. My shift's done at three, when are you off?”

“Eight,” Isaac says. In the background you think you hear Scott say “six.”

“Okay, we'll meet at 8:30 at Scott's house, then,” you say, suddenly desperate to get off the phone.

“Alright,” Isaac says quietly, sounding worried. “See you then.”

“Bye,” you say and hang up without waiting for him to say it back.

Your breathing is coming out loud in the dark quiet room and you set your phone down quickly to avoid throwing it at the wall. Instead you punch your pillow and thrust your face into it, clutching at the sides as hard as you can.

This isn't fair, you think pathetically, tears running down your cheeks and staining your pillowcase. Why does it have to be this way? You don't want Isaac to die. He can't die, you need him.

You don't get much sleep that night.

 

* * *

 

The summer ends with with everyone in poor spirits, the future seeming grim as you come to terms with the fact that five alphas have come to Beacon Hills and making them leave is going to be near impossible. If you can manage to do it at all without all dying. You feel shaky and afraid every minute you're apart from Isaac, every time your phone rings. You gain all the weight you lost from running back from stress-eating and spend all your free time now that your job at the pool is over locked in your room hiding under the covers, ignoring your parents' demands that you go to your therapist and get your medication adjusted. Scott turns seventeen a couple days before Labor Day and you go over to his house with Isaac and Lydia to celebrate, but spend most of the time too anxious to enjoy yourself, half-expecting alphas to burst through the windows at any second. Everyone else is on edge as well, and it puts a damper on what should have been a relaxed evening with friends and cake.

So of course it's at this point that Lydia decides to throw a back-to-school party the Saturday night before the first day back.

You don't want to go, not at all, but fighting Lydia is too much work, so you let her dress you up in a red and white sundress, do your make-up and your hair like you're her life-sized barbie, and sit on one of the couches next to Isaac in her spacious living room and drink way too much white wine.

“Why are there so many people here?” you complain, snuggling up into Isaac's shoulder as screams and splashes from outside indicate that people have started jumping in the pool. “I thought everyone thought she was crazy.”

“I guess that matters less when you've got a house this nice and free alcohol,” Isaac says, and snatches your blue solo cup out of your hands. “Okay, you've seriously had enough.”

“I'm not even drunk,” you lie, rolling your eyes and sling your legs over his lap. “I don't want to even be here.”

“Yeah, well, imagine how I feel right now,” Isaac says sarcastically, and you roll his eyes at his melodrama.

Across the room a kid who looks way too young to be here starts throwing up over the arm of an armchair and a couple people make disgusted noises over the loud pop music blaring from the stereo. Scott comes inside from the patio and crouches next to him, rubbing his back and offering him a glass of water.

“I think he's an alien,” you tell Isaac contemplatively.

“What?” Isaac says, following your gaze. “Allison.”

“He's too niiiice,” you moan, pressing your nose into his neck and inhaling the scent of his cheap deodorant. “I don't understand him. He's an alien.”

“He's not,” Isaac says, actually sounding kind of hurt. His eyes linger on Scott leaving the room, taking the kid to the bathroom, for far too long.

You smile and squirm your way onto his lap, knees on either side of his thighs. “Hey,” you say happily, grinning down at him. “Wanna get out of here?”

Out of here, meaning upstairs, which Lydia had specifically cordoned off, in the closest guest bedroom to the stairs. You don't quite make it to the bed, Isaac kicking the door shut behind you, and lean up against it while Isaac drops to his knees and pushes up your skirt.

“Seriously, you have a fetish,” you moan as he pulls down your underwear and licks at you hungrily. You widen your stance, legs tottering dangerously on your heels and grip his hair in one hand, holding up your skirt in the other. “Why do you always...mmm, yeah, do that again.”

You feel him grin against you and give a hard suck on your clit that almost makes you fall. He picks you up and deposits you on the bed before you can even blink and then he's back between your legs, sliding his tongue inside you.

“Yess,” you hiss when his tongue gets just the right pressure and pattern, hips bucking up for more. The music is still going on strong below you and it (and the alcohol) makes you bold. “Yes, c'mon, Isaac, just like that, _c'mon_ -”

You bring your legs up to bend at the knees and spread them to give him more room, whimpering when his hands snake up your body to squeeze your boobs. You've never come just from this, but this time you think you might be able to, just from his clever tongue and fingers, two of them in you now, pressing up just right. “Yeah, c'mon, Isaac, Isaac, Is-”

“Hey, stop that right now!” Lydia yells from the downstairs landing, causing you to jump in shock. “You are making Scott _extremely uncomfortable_ right now!”

Isaac raises his head, eyes wide with horror, but you don't find yourself sharing his mortification. Instead a slow grin comes over your face. Perfect, you think, and shove him back down.

“C'mon,” you hiss shamelessly, rutting your hips up. “I'm so _close_ , just...”

Isaac moans, squirming against the bed himself and continues eating you out, clutching your hips tightly. You grasp your boobs as you feel your orgasm approaching and moan louder.

Let him hear, you think headily, and the thought of that, of Scott hearing this, ever moan and whimper, every lewd sound from Isaac's mouth between your legs, makes you throw back your head and come, letting sounds out of your mouth freely, without any attempt to muffle yourself. _Let him hear this._

“Oh, shit,” Isaac gasps, rolling on his back. You groan, your heart pounding in your chest and breath still coming out fast, but try to sit up and return the favor, only to find it's already been taken care of.

“Mmm, you really like that?” you say, rolling over onto his chest and giving Isaac's limp dick hanging out of his pants a smug look.

Isaac just looks sort of rueful and runs his hand through your hair, pulling you down to curl into his side. He pushes your dress down your shoulders and divest you of your bra so he can plant his face in your boobs with a happy groan. You rolls your eyes and pet his hair absentmindedly, feeling suddenly exhausted. The sound of the music and the people downstairs doesn't keep your eyes from sliding shut and you fall asleep shockingly quickly, only waking up for a few moments later in the night when Isaac pulls you up the bed and gets you under the comforter.

 

* * *

 

You're significantly less pleased with yourself in the morning.

“Shit,” you say to the ceiling, Isaac still plastered all over you.

“Mm, what?” he mumbles, turning his head a bit into your shoulder.

I'm never drinking again, you think miserably, closing your eyes. You don't have a hangover-the sick feeling in your stomach is purely from shame.

The clock next to the bed says 9:38, which means you need to get out of here before your parents freak out and start calling you every two minutes, because you said you'd be home by 10:00 to help with inventory. They have no idea you were at a party last night instead of just a sleepover and you have no intention of them finding out.

“Isaac, c'mon, get up,” you say, shoving him off you. “I gotta go.”

Isaac groans in protest and reaches aimlessly for you, but you avoid his hands and climb off the bed, mouth dry with thirst. You take a drink out of the bathroom sink and wince at your smeared makeup. You try to wash it off, with limited success without makeup remover, and when you come out Isaac has rolled over on his side, head propped up by his arm, looking at your contemplatively.

“What?” you say, confused at his contented look.

“Nothing,” he says, smiling fondly.

You give him a very pointed look and raise your eyebrows, glancing down at the floor.

The smile slides off Isaac's face and he winces, letting his head fall back down onto the pillow.

“Shit,” he says and then groans.

“Yeah,” you say, cringing, because why, oh, why had you thought having sex in the same house as another werewolf would be a good idea?

Isaac rolls over onto his stomach and moans melodramatically into the maroon and white pillowcase.

“I really have to go,” you say, picking your bra up off the floor and pulling your dress straps up over your shoulders. “Where did you put my underwear?”

Isaac doesn't look up, just points at the door where your underwear is lying.

“It'll be okay,” you tell him as you pull it on, sounding supremely unconvinced.

“How?” Isaac groans, lifting his head to look at you blearily.

“It's not like he didn't know we're...” you say, shrugging your shoulders uncomfortably.

“Not the same thing.”

“Alright,” you agree helplessly. “Look, you want me to give you a ride hom-back to the McCalls?”

Isaac sighs and sits up, trying to flatten his hair. “Okay,” he says in resignation and rolls out of the bed, trying to fix his clothes.

You take the sheets and throw them down the laundry chute after you've finished making yourself as presentable as possible and then creep down the stairs, aware there are still people sleeping.

You're just stepping onto the landing, only a few yards from the front door- so close!- when the last person you want to see rounds the corner.

“Okay, man, just close your eyes, I'll-” Scott says and then stops in his tracks when he looks up from where he's half carrying Stiles out the door to see you.

“Hi,” you say after a pause that goes on far too long. Scott's eyes are very wide and you feel your cheeks burn.

Stiles opens his eyes and squints at you. “Oh, you guys are so gross,” he groans and then winces. “Ow, even thinking hurts.”

“I'd, uh, better take him home,” Scott says uncomfortably, looking everywhere but at the two of you. “Isaac, do you need a ride or...?”

“I'll take him,” you say quickly, eager for this encounter to be over with as soon as possible. You take a few steps toward the door and glance back at Isaac, who is beet red and examining his fingernails.

“Right,” Scott says, sounding a bit strained, adjusting Stiles's arm over his shoulder. “See you later then.”

You and Isaac walk as quickly as you can across the hallway and go out the front door. Lydia's long driveway is still halfway full of cars and it takes some maneuvering to get out onto the road. By the time you finally put your car into drive, Scott and Stiles are exiting Lydia's house as well. Scott gives you an awkward wave which neither you nor Isaac return and you hit the gas to get out of there. Isaac watches them through the rearview mirror until you turn a corner and then slumps back against the passenger seat.

“Shit,” he says hollowly and then puts his hand over his face. “What's wrong with us?”

I was drunk and apparently get off on Scott listening to us having sex and you're easily lead, you think ruefully.

“Just pretend nothing happened,” you advise him, because it's the only thing you can think of. “I'm sure he will.”

When you stop at a light you turn to see him scowling at you.

“What?” you ask him pointedly, annoyed at how he seems to be blaming you for this mess. “I'm not the one who can't get drunk. _You_ were sober last night.”

“You seduced me,” he complains, leaning back against the headrest and closing his eyes.

“I said “Wanna get out of here?”” you say coolly, but there's a tightness in your chest at the suspicion that he's trying to pin this all on _you_. “You're the one who practically ripped off my underwear.”

“You were all over me,” he protests. “You know how you are when you're drunk; climbing on top of me, all wet-you _know_ I can smell that, right? How am I supposed to _not_ eat your pussy?”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?” you say, hurt, cringing at his use of the word “pussy”, because _gross_.

“Uh...a compliment?” Isaac says, frowning at your reaction. “Did it not come out that way?”

“No, it did not,” you say shortly and turn back to the road and accelerate through the light. You feel vaguely queasy, because you've never heard him talk like that before, certainly not about you. Is that really what he thinks of you? That you're just some pair of boobs and a hole to fuck?

It's stupid, but you sort of thought he didn't care what you look like. You're kind of flabby in places, after all, and unless Lydia gets a hold of you you never really make an effort to look nice. It's stupid and hypocritical, because even though you've never particularly been a fan of blond hair, even as dark as Isaac's, or blue eyes, you like the way Isaac looks; how tall he is, his shoulders, his pretty cheekbones, the way his muscles feel under your hands.

“I...sorry,” Isaac mutters, sounding confused. “I didn't mean anything bad by it?”

You don't say anything and nod shortly, not taking your eyes off the road.

“Allison...” Isaac says, a bit strained, and you clench your teeth at the undercurrent of fear in his voice. It's so hard to be mad at Isaac because of how afraid he gets. It's like he thinks you could leave him at any moment.

“It's fine,” you say, even though it's not. But you'll get over it by the next time you see him. There's no point in starting an argument over it. What would you even say? I understand that you meant it in a good way, but it makes me uncomfortable when you talk about me like that. Lame. You just need to be less sensitive.

You pull up to Scott's house, relieved to see that Scott's bike isn't in the driveway. “See you at school tomorrow?” you say mildly, turning to look at him, expressionless.

“Allison,” Isaac says, looking at you nervously. “Look, I...you can't just pretend...can you just tell me what's wrong?”

“It's nothing,” you say as dismissively as possible.

“ _Allison_ ,” he presses, a determined expression coming over his face that reminds you eerily of Scott.

You look away from him and scowl, hunching your shoulders. “I just don't like stuff like that,” you say vaguely.

“Okay,” he says hesitantly.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and leans in slowly, nose brushing your cheek. You close your eyes and turn to kiss him, cupping his cheek.

“Sorry,” he murmurs after a moment. You shrug noncommittally and offer him a weak smile.

Your phone begins to buzz in your purse and you wince. “I really need to get home,” you tell him apologetically.

“Okay,” he says, leaning back and unbuckling his seatbelt. “See you tomorrow.”

You watch him walk up Scott's lawn for a few seconds and then start up your car again, sighing a bit. You really are terrible at being in a relationship.

 

* * *

 

Your junior year starts the same as any other year; with all of your classmates inordinately pleased with themselves at being a year older than they were last year. Only it's worse this time because now you're all _upperclassmen_ , like that means something more than you're one year closer to adulthood and death.

Okay, you'd probably be a bit more excited if not for the fact that you're too worried about surviving the next few months. Now that your parents are involved. You don't have to worry about them killing Isaac anymore (though you doubt the truce will hold if they find out he's your boyfriend) but you didn't want them involved in this at all. Against those alphas. Five of them apparently. You remember Peter, think about Derek beating Isaac in front of you, and feel sick every time you imagine the kind of damage that they could cause.

And that's before you find out that two of them have _transferred into your class_ at Beacon Hills High.

You hadn't thought much about the two new twin transfer students other than to roll your eyes at Lydia's sudden interest, but when Isaac sits down next to you in English with a deathly pale face you know something is wrong.

And that's _before_ a bunch of suicidal crows disrupt your new English teacher's attempts to get your class excited about Heart of Darkness.

All in all, it's a pretty terrible first day.

 

* * *

 

“What the hell is going on?” you hiss to Scott after as you stare around the wreckage of the classroom, crow bodies, blood, and feathers smeared everywhere. Your new English teacher, who is very young, hasn't called anyone for help yet and is starting blankly in front of her, a smear of blood on her cheek.

“I don't...I don't know,” Scott says, looking just as bewildered as you feel. He approaches Ms. Blake carefully, crouching down a bit to look into her face. “Ms. Blake? Are you alright?”

She startles, focusing on him and nods. “Yes, I-” she says and goes still as a crow feather falls out of her hair. She swallows and stands up from her seat on her desk. “I'd better go get someone.”

They end up calling all of your parents to pick you up and sending all the kids that got cut by the broken glass to the hospital. You're annoyed when both your parents show up with grim faces and almost drag you out of the school. And then they start talking about moving.

“We are _not_ moving!” you say angrily, glaring at the backs of their heads from the backseat. You'd insisted you could drive your own car home, but they hadn't listened, even though you weren't sitting anywhere near the windows. Even if you had been Isaac jumped over you the second the glass broke to protect you.

“Allison,” your mother says sharply, turning around to look at you with an unimpressed look. “You know this is part of our work. And after everything that's happened in this town, it'll be good to get a fresh start.”

“I'm not going anywhere!” you say loudly, gripping the side of the door, cold fear rushing through you. “I'm not leaving this town, I like it here! I've made friends, I'm, I'm going to do better in school, I-”

“You'll makes other friends,” your father says dismissively, not bothering to take his eyes off the road. “We can be in a new town in a month, you'll have plenty of time to say goodbye.”

It's something they've been telling you your whole life and it makes your eyes sting with tears.

“Allison, get a hold of yourself!” your mother says when they spill down your cheeks, looking shocked and disgusted at your display of emotion.

“I-I don't want to leave,” you say, voice trembling pathetically.

“We'll go somewhere better,” your father says, looking back at you through the rearview mirror, his brow furrowed in confusion at your reaction. “Warmer. You can make better friends than _Lydia_.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to scream. You can't leave, you can't. Even the thought of moving to a new town, leaving behind Isaac, Lydia, Scott, makes you feel like you've been punched in the stomach. You can't leave, you can't, you can't, you can-

“Allison, stop that right now,” your mother says as your father pulls the car into your driveway. “This is not new to us. This is the way our business works-we need to go where the work is. You know that and honestly, you've never been so emotional about this before.”

It's a lie, you cried yourself to sleep many times during grade school and middle school when your parents announced that you were moving once again. You haven't done it recently, because you didn't care. You had nothing at those other towns. But now you have everything and you cannot lose it.

“Oh, so this is about work now?!” you exclaim angrily, ripping off your seatbelt. “Something just _happened_ to come up?!”

“Enough,” your father says, turning around in his seat and looking at you in bewilderment, like it had never occurred to him that you might react this way. “This is not something we've never done before. You had to know we'd be moving on eventually.”

You hadn't actually. You'd figured the unending supply of werewolf drama would keep your parents in Beacon Hills for another year at least.

“I _hate_ you,” you tell them, like a teenage cliché, and leap out of the car and go into the house before they can respond. You take the stairs up two at time and practically throw yourself onto your bed, screaming into your pillow.

“Allison, get down here!” your mother yells from the ground floor and you slam your door in response furiously, causing your entire room to shake slightly.

Fuck you, you think, burying yourself under the covers. Your anger fades into misery as a couple minutes go by and your door stays closed, no footsteps on the landing outside your door. You cry as quietly as you can under the covers, your hot breath seeming to fill in all the spaces and choke you. You can't leave. You won't leave Isaac. You'd rather die. You'll kill yourself. Or maybe you'll run away and live with Scott. His mother would probably let you live there if you didn't have sex with Isaac in the house.

After a couple hours there's a soft knock on your door. “Allison?” your father says softly.

You don't reply, made lethargic and numb by your misery.

He opens the door, pauses, and then walks across the room to sit at the foot of your bed. You feel your mattress sink slightly at his weight, but you don't lift your head from under your covers. You have no interest in the lecture he's about to give you on proper behavior.

“Allison, we need to talk,” he says seriously.

You don't reply and squeeze your eyes shut, hoping he'll go away. Your mother would yank the covers off you and drag you out of bed for your disrespect, but your father's always been more lenient with you. Which would be nice if not for the fact you're pretty sure he only acts that way is because you're a girl.

“This town...it just isn't safe,” your father says, trying to reason with you, like reason has anything to do with your reaction. “After Kate and...and now this. It isn't the first time there's been an incident at that school. It's very important to your mother and I that you're in a safe environment.”

You bite the inside of your mouth to prevent yourself from laughing at that because God, what a _liar_.

“What about my happiness?” you ask dully, clenching your fists in your fitted sheet in anger. “Or is that not a factor?”

“Of course, it's a factor,” your father says, sounding uncomfortable with this line of discussion. _Good_. “You'll make other friends, Allison. You just need to make an effort. Join some clubs. What about the track team?”

“I don't _want_ other friends,” you say through gritted teeth. “I want Lydia...and Stiles and Scott,” you add on for good measure, because you have been using friends plural the whole time.

“Who are Stiles and Scott?” your father asks suspiciously, and suddenly you're electrified with rage at how _that_ , that's what he wants to talk about. Your happiness doesn't matter, but, what, your virginity does? Is that all he cares about?

“You know, before we came here, I wanted to die,” you tell him, and have to close your eyes against the sudden burn of tears pricking your eyes.

An oppressive silence follows. As the seconds pass you wonder if he's going to yell at you for your foolishness and ingratitude.

“You never told us that,” he says finally, voice cracking a bit.

You let out a bitter laugh against the mattress. “How could I? You already think I'm pathetic enough.”

“Allison, you need to tell me right now if you've ever tried to hurt yourself,” he says, and you feel him getting to his feet and grabbing a hold of your comforter.

“No, _God_ ,” you say, ripping it away from him and rolling over so your back's to him. “I thought about it,” you admit truthfully, but not because it's the truth, but because you want to _hurt_ him. “But it seemed like too much work.”

“I need to speak to your mother,” your father says after another long pause.

“Good luck with that,” you say sarcastically and curl up into a little ball under the sheets.

He leaves the room and you wait hatefully for your mother to storm up the stairs and demand you stop overreacting, stop lying, stop being a pathetic fat blob of a person, because you _know_ that's what she thinks of you. You hear raised voices, your parents arguing with each other on the first floor, but you can't make out the words. It lasts a lot longer than you thought it would-half an hour maybe-and your muscles hurt from tensing in anticipation from waiting for the inevitable firestorm.

Finally, you hear quick footsteps on the stairs.

“Allison,” your mother says tersely, your bedroom door opening with a creak.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” you scream, louder than you've ever screamed in your life, the sound torn out of you almost without your permission. Your throat hurts afterward and you dig your hands into the sheets at the sudden violent urge that rushes through you.

It must have shocked your parents as much as it shocked you because they don't bother you the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

You get up two hours early the next morning and creep out of the house. You sit in the school parking lot and doze while you wait for school to start and spend lunch discussing the meaning of the strange behavior of the crows, and apparently other animals in Beacon Hills. You don't mention your parents' plans, though Isaac seems to be able to tell you're upset and watches you worriedly. It's technically your first day of junior year, but you miss most of it, zoning out during the explanations of grading and papers.

You go home late, after having sex with Isaac twice in a motel room, wrapping your arms and legs around him and clutching tightly, trying not to think that this might be one of the last times. Your parents are washing the dishes when you come through the door, and they both look up at you in obvious relief when you enter the kitchen.

“You're going to your therapist tomorrow afternoon at 3:30,” your father tells you, with no room for argument in his voice, wiping down a plate with a hand towel.

“Fine,” you say coolly, grabbing a glass out of its cupboard and filling it with water from the refrigerator water dispenser.

“Don't you ever raise your voice at me like that again,” your mother says sharply, like she's biting back a furious tirade at your lack of respect. You're actually sort of impressed by her restraint.

“Fine,” you repeat, turning around to look at her and school your expression into an emotionless wall.

She looks back at you with the exact same look.

“I have homework,” you say, boredly, as your father takes a wet saucepan off the counter top and begins to dry it off.

“Don't stay up too late,” your father says shortly, giving you a firm look.

They never bring up the possibility of moving again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allison's parents are so terrible. I feel like their terribleness is glossed over because Victoria died and Chris is "good now", but it makes me sad to think of what Allison's childhood was like. Please comment!


	17. Who, who are you really?

“You think someone is killing virgins?” Derek says skeptically, giving Stiles a look one might be expected to give a man selling “genuine Gucci handbags” out of the back of his van. “Why?”

“Well, I don't know!” Stiles says, frustrated, and throwing his hands up in the air. He's very white, and has been very white since his childhood friend was kidnapped from her seventeenth birthday party over the weekend and found murdered. “It's the only connection.”

“It's a weak connection at best,” Derek scoffs, leaning up against the door of his new car, a Toyota that seems like the sort of car a soccer mom would drive.

“Is there any reason someone would _want_ to kill virgins?” you ask him tightly. It sounds like a stupid theory if you're honest, but Ted is dead. Poor, stupid Ted, who was saving himself until marriage because he only wanted to be with the one woman he'd spend the rest of his life with. You weren't really friends or anything, but his death still shook you. When Lydia called you from the pool to tell you she'd found a dead body, you hadn't thought for a second it would be him. But it was. Someone you'd spent hours with over the summer, gone forever. It is not a joking matter.

Derek scowls at you and exchanges a brief look with his sister, a pale dark-haired girl who'd given you such a look of disgust when Scott introduced you that you were taken aback for a moment until you remember Kate murdered most of her family.

“I don't know,” he says unhappily. “Maybe.”

“See!” Stiles exclaims, jabbing his finger at Derek. “Something _evil_ is killing virgins! Sacrificing them! For evil!”

“So basically what you're saying is that you're the only one in danger,” Erica says, crossing her arms over her low-cut top, bright red lips curled into a disdainful smirk. “Maybe Scott, too.”

“Okay, why don't we...” Scott says, looking startled at this remark and you try not to try to interpret his reaction.

“Boyd and I are so very not in danger,” Erica continues loftily, ignoring him. “Lydia goes without saying, as do you two,” she says, pointing between you and Isaac. “Cora...I'm not sure, to be honest, it could go eit-”

“No,” Cora says flatly, looking just as unimpressed as her brother, or at least until he turns to look at her in horror. She rolls her eyes at him and glares at the rest of them. “Are we just going to stand around making stupid jokes or do you people have anything useful to contribute?”

“Hopefully soon, because people are beginning to stare,” Lydia says, jerking her head in the direction of a couple curious teenage girls walking down the parking lot an aisle down from them. You're in the mall parking lot way at the back, but it's only 5 in the afternoon and nine people standing in a circle talking seriously is kind of conspicuous. “Don't you have an evil lair or something we can meet at?”

“He really does,” Stiles mutters under his breath.

“And _she_ is coming nowhere near it,” Derek snaps, giving you a disgusted look.

“Why don't we go to my house?” Scott says quickly, looking nervous at the prospect of a fight. “My mom's working, so no one's there.”

“So no one has anything useful to say,” Cora says, looking irritated. “What's the point if we don't have any information?”

“We need to figure out what to do,” Scott says earnestly. “This doesn't sound like the Alpha Pack. Deaton thinks it's a Darach, a druid gone dark, but he has no idea who it could be or what they want.”

“A dark druid?” Isaac says skeptically. “And why can't it be the Alpha Pack? They killed the girl that saved me. I bet they killed all those people, too.”

“They never found her body, we don't know if she's dead for sure,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “Have you ever even seen a movie?”

“Maybe they got rid of it,” Isaac says darkly, starting to look pissed off.

“And didn't get rid of the others?” Stiles replies, raising his eyebrows pointedly.

“If this doesn't have anything to do with the Alpha Pack then it doesn't have anything to do with us,” Cora says impatiently, sagging against the door of Derek's car.

“Someone is _killing_ people,” Scott says, looking horrified at her apathy.

“You don't think we have enough to worry about?” Cora snaps at him.

“I think a serial killer takes precedence over the Alphas, who haven't killed anyone.”

“Yet,” Boyd interjects, the first time he's spoken during this entire encounter. “You don't know what they're like. Deucalion, he's...he'll kill us all to get what he wants, and anyone who gets in his way.”

The confident look slides off of Erica's face and she glances at Boyd worriedly. Boyd just continues to look at Scott flatly, arms crossed over his chest.

Scott lets out a frustrated breath. “So you just want to pretend there isn't a serial killer going around _murdering_ people?!” he says, dismayed.

“I say we focus on the things that concern us,” Cora says, giving Scott an unimpressed look before turning to Derek. “Why do we need this kid?”

“This _kid_ helped save your life,” Derek says, surprising you in his defense of Scott. “And you know we can't just sit back and wait for them to make the first move,” he says to Scott. “Erica and Boyd followed the twins home to an apartment building downtown, so we know where they live.”

“Then they want you to know,” Scott says, looking stunned. “What are you going to do? You can't beat a pack of alphas.”

“That's why we're going after Deucalion,” Cora says, anger burning in her eyes. “Just him.”

“Cut off the head of the snake and the body dies,” Boyd explains.

“You think killing one of them will stop them?” you say, unimpressed with this logic. “They're all alphas anyway.”

“Deucalion's still the leader,” Derek says, glaring at you. “And your parents seem to think it's a good enough plan, considering it was their idea.”

“Is no one else here interested in all the murders?” Stiles asks frustratedly, waving his hands around to get their attention.

You bite back an angry retort, that Derek should leave your parents alone and not involve them in his idiotic plans. “Do what you want,” you say harshly, digging your nails into your palms. You don't want to be involved in this anyway.

“I'm glad we have your permission,” Cora says sarcastically. “The approval of psycho murdering bitches is exactly what we came here for.”

“ _What_ did you say?” Isaac snaps, stepping forward and letting out a furious snarl.

“Isaac, leave it,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Excuse me, did she do anything to you?” Lydia asks bitingly. “You've been unnecessarily hostile the entirely of our blessedly short acquaintance. _What_ is your problem?”

“I don't care,” you tell them, because you really don't. Your aunt murdered most of Cora's family, burned them to death, and if hating you helps her get over it, more power to her. You could care less about her opinion of you.

Unfortunately the rest of your meeting quickly degenerates into everyone insulting each other and Scott unsuccessfully trying to keep the peace. Nothing gets solved and after you leave you spend the rest of the evening sick to your stomach at the thought of your parents going up against the Alpha Pack. You've never been worried about your parents' safety before, always over what they might do, but the Alpha Pack is different, and you haven't seen any of your parents' hunter henchmen or whatever in a while. What can they do, just the two of them?

 

* * *

 

A week later, three more people are killed, a senior, the music teacher at Beacon Hills, and Harris. Lydia is the first to realize the latter two are missing, her weird sixth sense about death acting up again, and even as she tries to pretend it doesn't bother her, she is very quiet the next few days.

“I don't want to talk about it,” Lydia says tersely, downing a shot of tequila and slumping back against her headboard.

“Okay,” you say awkwardly, even you think you really need to. You can't just keep pretending this isn't happening. You need to figure it out.

“Don't look at me like that, you're ruining my buzz,” Lydia complains.

“I think we should talk to Deaton,” you say, watching her expression carefully and shifting a little at the foot of her bed. “He might know what's going on.”

“I don't want to know,” Lydia says fiercely. “I just want it to stop. I'm sick of finding dead people!”

“But-”

“I'm not talking about this,” Lydia declares and picks up the bottle of tequila from her bedside table again to pour herself another shot.

You relent, unhappily, but before you can think of a way to coax her into talking before she drinks herself into oblivion, you get a frantic text from Isaac about Scott trying to make peace with the Alphas before Derek's plan gets you all killed.

“I have to go,” you tell Lydia, horrified that _Scott's_ plan apparently involves him and Isaac going to meet Deucalion in an abandoned mall south of here and talk things out.

“Hey, what-” Lydia says drunkenly, but you rush out of the room, frantically digging for your keys in your purse as you stumble down the stairs. You only had one drink, but you feel lightheaded and curse yourself for thinking you could take a night off.

“Allison, what are you doing here?” Scott hisses as you pull up next to his bike in the abandoned mall parking lot. It looks like the beginning of a horror movie and you really hope Scott chose this location himself, but you doubt it.

“Stopping you from getting killed,” you say angrily, shutting your car door behind you and sticking your gun into the back of your pants where you hope your bulky sweater will conceal it. “Are you stupid? He's going to _kill_ you!”

“How did you even-” Scott starts and whirls around to give Isaac a betrayed look. Isaac, still clutching his helmet, looks away guiltily.

“You are not doing this,” you tell him, even though you're more than aware that you can't stop him. “We need to leave, _now_.”

“Someone has to do something before an all-out war starts,” Scott protests defiantly. “If Derek tries to kill Deucalion he'll get himself killed. And what about your parents?! They can't win against the Alpha Pack either.”

“So what, you're just going to surrender?” you ask, hating the fact that he's right. “You know what they want, Scott, and you can't give it to them. So what is the purpose of even talking to them? There isn't one, which means this is a trap.”

“You shouldn't be here,” Scott says worriedly, instead of addressing your very valid concern. “I don't want you to get hurt.”

“I can take care of myself,” you say, annoyed that he's trying to change the subject.

“But, I mean, you don't heal like we do,” Scott says, looking anguished.

He's not going to change his mind, you realize, a sinking feeling in your chest.

“I'm coming with you,” you tell him firmly, the tequila you'd had earlier probably giving a false sense of confidence.

“Allison, no!” Isaac says, eyes widening in fear.

“If you're going to do this, then I'm coming with you,” you say, and turn on your heel, heading for the entrance to the mall. You gun is loaded with wolfsbane bullets now. If Deucalion tries anything, you'll shoot him in the head and run.

“Hello, Scott,” Deucalion says from halfway up the broken escalator in the middle of the room. He's smaller than you thought he'd be, with sandy brown hair, dark glasses, and a cane he obviously does not need. “And...friends.”

“This is Allison and Isaac,” Scott says, swallowing back nervousness as he gestures to both of you.

“I'm not talking about them,” he says, flatly, and you think he has a British accent.

There's movement to your left and Derek and his pack step forward, already wolfed out. Scott tries to reason with him, but it's too late. And Deucalion is not alone. All hell breaks lose within ten seconds.

Derek immediately goes for Deucalion, but is intercepted by the woman with claws on her feet, while the twins leap down from the second level and merge into one huge person. Isaac had told you about it, but you still gape in shock at the sight of two people coming together. You draw your gun and manage to hit the huge muscular one with the shaved head in the shoulder who comes up behind you. He roars in pain and lunges for you, but Boyd and Erica tackle him to the ground, claws outstretched. Next to you Isaac and Scott as tossed against the wall by the twins and Cora leaps in to help. It's seven on four, but the Alphas are clearly stronger. Scott and Isaac are barely avoiding the twins monster's claws, Derek is on the defense against the woman, and even injured the bald alpha is holding his own against Erica and Boyd. This can't go on for much longer.

No one is looking at you. You step forward and aim your gun at Deucalion's head, firing twice, but he ducks.

Shit, you think, as the woman lets out a roar of rage and shoves Derek out of the way, heading for you. You should have brought more ammo.

You hit her twice in the stomach and then are bowled over from behind by Cora, who hits you so hard she must have been thrown.

“Allison!” Isaac shouts and you struggle to get to your feet as the woman snarls and clutches her bleeding stomach.

“Wolfsbane,” she snarls, her red eyes widening, and turns toward the bald werewolf, who's being beaten into submission by Erica and Boyd.

Before you can fire again Derek grabs her from behind and throws her against one of the support beams, causing the whole room to tremble.

There's a roar of rage behind you and you turn to see the twin monster running right at you. You only have time to fire once and you miss, but before he gets to you Scott slams him out of the way.

They both skid across the floor and it's the first time you've really seen Scott's werewolf face, but surely his eyes aren't supposed to be alpha red?

The entire room stares at him for a second before there's a loud bang from above you. You turn to see what it is, but before you can see anything you're being grabbed from the behind and dragged across the room and behind a corner, away from the fight. You struggle for a second, trying to get him off you, but a hand clamps over your mouth and Scott says, “Shh!”

He turns you around and presses you against the wall, covering you with his body and you're about to demand what the hell is going on when the shooting starts.

You hadn't realized how loud machine gun fire is until now, and it hurts your ears more than you can believe. It must be hell for Scott, but he just shields you with his body, cupping the back of your head with his hand.

There's a lot of yelling that you can't make out and after a minute or so the shooting dies down.

“We're going after them,” you hear your father say and your heart begins to pound even louder in your chest. Fear floods through you, different than the fear you'd felt earlier, mixed with adrenaline, the kind of feeling that makes you want to shoot everything. This is different. This is your parents . “You change a plan on us next time, we won't be here.”

“Shut up,” Derek snarls weakly.

“Ungrateful mongrel,” your mother sneers and your body gives an involuntary jerk of fear at the sound of her voice. Scott puts a steadying hand on your waist and you close your eyes, inhaling the faint scent of soap on his skin. His other hand shifts on the back of your head, fingers moving against your scalp and to your horror you realize your mother is saying something else but you're completely missing it, too transfixed by the proximity of Scott's body, his breath against your cheek. His chest is pressed right up against yours, the lapels of his jacket brushing your neck, and you wonder what his hand slipping under your sweater would feel like.

“Derek!” Cora cries, and it's Scott's turn to give a jerk and he tries to pull away from you. You grab him around the waist and dig your fingers into his jacket to keep him in place, because your parents cannot find out about him, they can't.

“Allison?” Scott whispers against your cheek. “Allison, it's alright, they're gone.”

You look up at him, startled, and are shocked at how close your faces are together. Unlike Isaac, he's only about two inches taller than you. You haven't been so close to his face since you kissed him all those months ago and in the bad light his eyes seem very dark, his lashes very long. It would be so very easy to lean up and press your mouths together, and Scott seems to realize this at the same time you do.

He pulls away, looking at you with wide eyes, and then looks around the corner to the others. You push yourself off the wall, knees stupidly weak, and follow him back, nearly slipping on bullets littered across the floor. Derek looks very badly injured and is being supported by his sister, Erica and Boyd hovering over him worriedly. Isaac is sitting on the ground, holding his side with a pained look on his face and you go over to him immediately, dropping down on your knees next to him.

“Allison,” he says, looking up at you, relief all over his face.

“You okay?” you ask worriedly, pulling back his jacket and seeing the dark stain on his navy blue t-shirt.

“Yeah, it's not deep,” Isaac says with a wince. “Just stings a bit. It'll take longer than normal to heal because it's from an alpha.”

You've never heard of that before, but you don't particularly care at the moment. You wrap your arms around him and pull him close, starting to tremble uncontrollably. You almost just died. All of you. If your parents hadn't shown up. If Scott hadn't pulled you out of the way before they saw. Terrible things could have happened, you just barely escaped by a hair. If one tiny thing was different...

The wound in Isaac's side stops bleeding, but it's still slower than it should be to close completely. It doesn't seem to bother him too much, because he has no problem pining you up against the motel door the second you walk into the room and kissing you fiercely. The sex is hard and desperate and a little bit painful, but you need it like that, need to feel alive and distract yourself from everything that could have gone wrong.

You wake up sometime in the middle of the night with Isaac pressed against your back, nuzzling at your neck, his erection nudging the small of your back.

“Allison,” he hisses, nuzzling more insistently and grips your left hip. You wince immediately, because that kind of hurts. He must've left bruises on it earlier. Still, the desperate shake of his hands makes you arch back into him and you take his hand off your hip and put it on your left boob. Isaac moans against your ear and squeezes you, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You inhale sharply and start to feel hot all over, the way he pants needily against your neck making you dizzy with lust. He feels good pressed against your back, his hand on your boobs, and you wonder...Lydia did say that it was good like this. It seemed demeaning and gross when she said it, but now...You're already here and protected by the cover of darkness. Maybe you should-

Isaac tries to turn you over onto your back, but you grab his hand on your stomach and say. “No. Like this.”

“What?” he says, sounding confused.

You take his hand and push it down your stomach, spreading your legs a bit so he can put his fingers inside you. Isaac groans when he feels how wet you are and rubs his thumb against your clit while he curls his fingers inside you. You let out a soft sound of pleasure in the back of your throat and arch your neck back, so he can kiss it, his dick rubbing against your ass. The combination of his fingers in you, on your clit, his hand on your boobs and his warm body pressed up against you makes you impatient far sooner than you usually are.

“C'mon,” you hiss, and rub back against him teasingly. Isaac moans and reaches backward with one hand to grab for a condom, clutching you with the other like he's unwilling to let go of you even for a second. You roll your eyes when you hear him drop his wallet and let out an embarrassing whine, squirming impatiently until he finally gets the condom on. You spread your legs and moan when he pushes into you, guiding his hands back to your boobs.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Isaac moans, beginning to thrust.

It's a lot more passive, this position, maybe only because you can't really figure out how to get any leverage to push back on him, but it's pretty obvious why Lydia said it was so good. At this angle his dick hits on places he'd only previously been able to get with his fingers. It feels like he can touch every single inch of you like this and you make your pleasure known with hitching moans with every thrust and rub at your clit shamelessly.

He can't kiss you on the mouth though, not that you're complaining at all about his teeth scrapping your neck, and for some reason your mind immediately goes to Scott.

Scott lying next to you right here in the dark, kissing you while Isaac fucks you from behind. Scott's warm hands on your boobs, trailing down your body to touch your clit. Scott pressing himself up against your front, wrapping an arm around your waist and kissing you hungrily, penning you in between him and Isaac, until all you can do is clutch his shoulders and beg for relea-

You come suddenly, crying out into the dark, your fingers stumbling over your clit, and clench down hard over and over around Isaac. The orgasm overwhelms you, the pleasure filling you up and allowing no room for anything else, and you barely hear Isaac grunt in shock and jerk wildly against you.

You lose track of time, your face dropping down to the mattress, and you only become aware of your surroundings again when Isaac rolls you over onto your back.

“Shit, _Allison_ ,” he says reverently, propping himself up over you and kissing your face, stroking your hair out of your eyes.

You're too tired to talk and just pull him down against you by the back of his neck. The room is stuffy and hot and you're both disgustingly sweaty, but his body still feels good against yours. He pants into your neck, curling an arm around your waist, and falls asleep like that, because nothing makes Isaac happier than falling asleep on top of you.

You're tired, but you can't quiet seem to drift off, something itching at the back of your brain keeping you from sleep. The memory of Scott's body pressed against yours in the abandoned mall, his strong hands simultaneously keeping you safe from your parents and soothing you.

Shit, you think.

 

* * *

 

You drop Isaac off at Scott's house the next morning, so he can get ready for school, but Scott isn't there, apparently having gone on some mandatory lacrosse team cross-country meet in San Francisco. You think the timing is terrible, but Scott really does seem to love lacrosse, so you wait with his mother in the living room for Isaac to change. Thankfully you told your parents you had to stay over at Lydia's to work on a Physics lab, so you don't have to sneak into your house. As it is, sitting with Mrs. McCall with shower-damp hair after a night in a motel room with her sort-of foster kid is awkward enough.

She doesn't say anything to you about it, though she does look uncomfortable, but just asks you a couple worried questions about your confrontation with the Alpha Pack last night. You get the impression that Scott glossed over a lot of it. But you think you're in the clear, at least until she calls you later that night.

You don't pick up the first time because you don't recognize the number, but she calls again two minutes later.

“Hi, Allison, it's Melissa,” she says, when you pick up. “I'm sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”

“Did something happen?!” you ask, sitting up straight in your desk chair, heart hammering in your chest.

“No, no, everything's fine,” she assures you. “Well, Scott's cross-country meet got canceled because of a terrible accident on the highway and they're spending a night in a motel, but he should be back tomorrow morning. I just...” she trails off awkwardly. “Oh, God. I never thought I'd be having this conversation.”

“Uh...” you say, now completely confused why she's calling you.

“Okay,” she says, taking a deep breath. “I'm just going to say it. You...you and Isaac are sexually active, am I right?”

You have no idea what to say to that, open your mouth, and then shut it again.

“I know it's none of my business!” she adds quickly. “I just wanted to make sure you're using protection. Or if you needed my help in getting birth control. Or if you had any questions. You know I'm a nurse, so I...oh, this is really awkward, isn't it?”

Yes, you think, your face burning in embarrassment, yes, it is.

“I...yes, we are,” you say, forcing the words out. “We're...we're fine.”

“I'm really sorry,” she says apologetically. “But do you mind if I ask what kind? Is it just condoms, because they actually aren't that reliable. I mean, they can break or expire...”

“Um, yes,” you say. It's not that you didn't know that, even worried about a condom breaking sometimes because if it did you'd be screwed, because you have to be eighteen to buy the morning after pill.

“Have you considered other forms of birth control?” she asks. “I would suggest a NuvaRing. They're very easy to use and are much more effective than condoms.”

“I...don't know what that is,” you admit, cringing in embarrassment. You know Lydia has an IUD, but you've never heard of a NuvaRing before. It sounds like it might be similar and you don't want that. You _don't_ want some doctor touching you down there and to be honest it sounds kind of painful.

“It's a small ring you insert into your vagina once a month,” Scott's mother says, sounding very professional. “It's similar to the pill, but it's a lot more effective because a lot of women forget to take the pill everyday at the same time, which is why it's especially recommended for girls your age.”

“You have to get a prescription though, right?” you ask uncomfortably. “I mean, I can't...my parents can't find out.”

“You do...” she says hesitantly. “I take it they wouldn't like the idea of birth control?”

“Definitely not,” you tell her categorically.

“I...might be able to get you some,” she says slowly. “Have you ever been to a gynecologist before?”

“No,” you say and bite back that you _really_ don't want to.

“Okay,” she says. “I'll see what I can do.”

“Thanks,” you mutter and tell yourself that it would be ungrateful to ask her for the pill instead. It seems a lot safer to you. What if this ring thing falls out?

She gives them to you next time you come over to hang out with Scott, Isaac, Lydia, and Stiles, a packet of five of them with an informational pamphlet that you stick in your purse quickly and try not to look shifty.

When you go home you read through the pamphlet of proper usage and side-effects, ugh, and then figure what the hell, time to be a responsible adult about this. Getting pregnant and having to get an abortion without your parents finding out would suck a lot more than sticking a weird ring in your vagina every month. It feels kind of weird at first, but after a while you eventually forget that it's there. It'll take a week to kick in, so you'll have to use a condom until then. Though do you even want to have sex without a condom? Even if you won't get pregnant, you're not sure you want Isaac's come in you. Gross. And you'd have to wash it out, right? Maybe you just won't tell him. It's not like it's any of his business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meh, not really sure what I think about this chapter. 3a is actually my favorite season and so I actually don't want to rewrite it, because I like the original so much. So I hope this isn't too rushed. Please comment!


	18. And where, where are you going?

Isaac is watching Scott. He's been doing it for the last twenty minutes while your substitute Physics teacher drones on about Galileo, being extremely obvious about it. It should probably make you mad, jealous and possessive, but mostly it annoys you because _really_? Does he think no one's going to notice?

It's not like you don't understand the inclination, because it is, well, _Scott_. But he has to know how awkward it'd be if Scott found out he had a crush on him while they're living together. He should probably not stare at him like a starving man salivating over a steak.

Oh, my God, you think as Isaac's eyes move over Scott's tattooed bicep and down to his ass. Subtly, Isaac. Look it up.

Does he think about Scott when you have sex? you wonder. The thought bothers you a little, even though it's hypocritical. You have, on occasion. Well. A couple times...done...that... It's a vague worry, though. You're comfortable enough in your relationship with Isaac to know that he still likes you. Loves you, even. Maybe. You're still not really sure what that means.

“In Physics today?” you say after the final bell rings and you make your way to your car in the parking lot through a crowd of jubilant students. “Seriously?”

You didn't really want to talk to him about it-it just seemed awkward, but he cannot be that obvious. It could have consequences that you don't really want to think about.

“What?” Isaac says, confused.

You give him a pointed look and unlock your car with your remote key.

“What?” he says again when he sits down next to you in the passenger seat, throwing his backpack into the backseat.

“You have got to be more subtle,” you tell him, starting your car and looking over your shoulder to make sure there's no one coming as you back out of the parking space. “He's going to notice, you know.”

Isaac doesn't say anything and it isn't until you're stuck in the long line of students trying to leave the parking lot that you can look at him again.

He's frozen, staring at you with wide, guilty eyes, hands curled into fists over the fabric of his jeans.

“I'm not stupid,” you tell him, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

“O...kay,” Isaac says, still looking seconds away from bolting.

You scowl. This is exactly why you didn't want to have this conversation. You knew he'd react like this. And what is the point of talking about it anyway? It's not like you can do anything about it. It is what it is.

“I'm not mad,” you say uncomfortably, glaring at the car in front of you. Seriously, why do pedestrians have to walk right in front of cars trying to get out of the parking lot. It wouldn't be such a mess everyday if people just paid a little more attention to where they were going.

“It kinda seems like you're mad,” Isaac says carefully.

“I'm not,” you repeat. “I...get it.”

“You get it...?”

You shrug, looking down at your hands on the steering wheel in front of you. “I think about him too, you know.”

Isaac doesn't say anything and it takes you several seconds to force yourself to look at him. When you do his eyebrows are raised and his mouth has fallen open a bit in surprise.

“It's...whatever,” you say, rolling your eyes and pressing down softly on the gas pedal as the car in front of you moves forward a couple yards. “It doesn't have to be a big deal.”

“Okay,” Isaac says, still a little hesitant.

I'm not going to leave you, don't worry, you want to tell him, but can't figure out how to put it without sounding patronizing. You don't want to leave Isaac, and well, you weren't lying when you said Scott is too nice for you. It's just not an option.

 

* * *

 

“Allison?” Ms. Blake says as you pack up your books and head for the door. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

You frown and Lydia throws you a questioning look as the rest of the class leaves the room to go to their second period. Why does she want to talk to you? You haven't done anything worthy of praise or scolding. You don't participate unless called upon, but that's most of the class.

“Yeah?” you say uncomfortably, walking up to her desk. You don't have good experiences with teachers asking you to wait after class. There were a lot of well-meaning teachers after you found out about your parents and fell into a deep depression. You hated their attempts at “connecting” with you or whatever. You never understood why they always chose you as the kid who's life they were going to “make a difference in.”

“You've seemed quiet lately, I just wanted to make sure you're okay,” she says, smiling at you hesitantly.

“I'm fine,” you say flatly, though you do think it's a little weird because, no, you've pretty much been the same as ever.

“I mean, with everything that's going on,” she says, taking a shuddering breath. “It'd make sense if you were upset.”

She's not wrong. There have been three more murders, doctors. Healers. A druid thing apparently. Virgins, Warrior, Healers, Philosophers and Guardians.

You don't really understand it, but you don't have to to know how serious this is. Danny Mahealani had been poisoned and would have died if Jackson hadn't brought him to the hospital before it was too late. Deaton had been taken by the Darach, Scott rescuing him just in time, and both Isaac and Scott had been scared out of their minds for Scott's mom. And no one has any idea what will happen when the Darach finishes the sacrifices.

“I'm really fine,” you try to reassure Ms. Blake. It occurs to you that she's probably not even thirty. And there's no way she knew when she moved here that her coworkers and students were going to be picked off by some psycho. You feel sorry for her.

“Alright, well if you ever need to talk to someone,” she says, looking like she should be the one talking to someone. She pats your arms gently. “My door is always open.”

“Thanks,” you say, trying to sound genuine and turn to leave.

Halfway through Physics, you start to feel sick.

 

* * *

 

At first you think you're getting your period a week and a half early, but after your vision starts going blurry as you have difficulty getting up after the bell rings you know it has to be something else. A wave of pain suddenly grips your stomach and you find yourself doubling over and vomiting your breakfast onto the classroom floor, the boy who sits in front of you leaping out of the way with a yell of disgust. After that you can't get up, pain like you've never felt before ripping through you.

You think you hear Scott saying something, your name maybe, and then you're lifted into the air so quickly that another wave of nausea crashes through you, causing you to gag. You're moving then, being carried out of the room, but you're in so much pain at this point that you have no awareness of your surroundings. There's just light and sound and pain. You're jostled a bit and there's a gust of air on your cheek and the slam of a car door. You force your eyes open and blink uncomprehendingly at black, red, and neon green lines in front of your face, like a pattern. A shirt.

“Allison,” you hear Scott say, and he adjusts you so that you're looking at his face. It's out of focus, but even still you can tell he's worried. You're sitting in his lap, you realize, in the back of a car. “Where does it hurt? Your stomach?”

“Really hurts,” you whisper and then he reaches down to touch it. The pain lessens slightly and you hear Isaac say. “What are you doing?” in a high-pitched, scared voice.

You miss most of the conversation that follows, except for Stiles's ovarian cyst theory from the front seat unfortunately. You almost start crying when Scott lifts you up again, only to put you down on something soft, the voices of other people filling your ears.

There's questions, so many questions, what did you eat, are you allergic to anything, but you don't know, you can't answer, you can only clutch your stomach and sob in pain. Then there's a needle in your arm and everything stops.

 

* * *

 

You wake up and immediately regret it. Your head pounds and the bright sunlight coming through the window only makes it worse. You roll over, intending to go back to sleep, until you remember what happened and your eyes snap open in panic.

You're in a room you don't recognize, a bed you don't recognize, and you would panic if Lydia wasn't lying in the bed next to you, Isaac asleep in the desk chair. You reach up to hold your head as you take in the room, band posters, a guitar, clothes all over the floor...a boy's room. And then you notice the dark red line around Lydia's neck.

“Lydia,” you say hoarsely, your throat burning as you speak, and shake her frantically. “Lydia, wake up!”

There's a thump from the next room over and after a couple seconds Scott appears in the doorway, only in a t-shirt and boxers, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

“Scott,” you say, looking at him with wide eyes. “What's going on, what happened?”

“You were poisoned,” he says, looking relieved to see you're awake. “You're alright now, but the hospital got...A lot happened,” he finishes lamely.

“Lydia, what happened to your neck?” you ask her as she groans and rubs her eyes, smearing makeup onto her cheeks.

“Ms. Blake tried to strangle me,” she mutters, pulling herself up into a seated position. “Also, I am apparently a banshee.”

“Ms. Blake?” you say, stunned.

“She was the Darach,” Scott explains, pulling on a pair of jeans from the floor and sitting on the foot of what must be his bed. “She...she was Kali's emissary and Kali tried to kill her when she killed the rest of her pack. She wanted revenge.”

“And got it,” Lydia says darkly. “The Alpha Pack's dead.”

“All of them?” you start to say, but then Isaac jerks awake and falls out of Scott's desk chair.

“Hey, you okay?” Scott says, looking at him in concern, but Isaac only has eyes for you.

“Allison,” he chokes and practically throws himself at you, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you tightly. “Are you okay? How do you feel?”

“Fine,” you say, closing your eyes briefly and clutch his waist. He presses his face into your neck and you rub his back soothingly. “Hey, I'm okay. Just a bit of a headache.”

“You want some aspirin?” Scott asks, looking a little embarrassed.

“No, I want to know-she just killed them all?” you say, still having difficulty reconciling the fact that _Ms. Blake_ was the Darach. “Where is she now?”

“She's dead,” Lydia says coldly. “Your parents killed her.”

“I'm going to get you some aspirin,” Scott says at the stunned silence that follows and leaves the room quickly.

“Oh,” you say, adjusting Isaac in your arms so that you can see Lydia better. “Okay.”

Is that it then, you think in shock. Is it over? In one night?

“Lydia, my parents, where do they think I am?” you say suddenly. “Do they know I was in the hos-”

“No, Isaac convinced Scott's mom not to tell them and then when the alphas attacked the hospital we moved you here,” Lydia says, getting up out of Scott's bed and straightening her rumpled clothes. She points at your phone on Scott's bedside table. “I've been texting them saying you're at my place.”

“They attacked the hospital!?”

“They kidnapped Melissa and Stiles's dad,” Isaac mutters into your shoulder, wiping tears off his cheeks quickly.

“What?!”

“She was going to ritual sacrifice them, but I found them under a tree stump using my undefined, death-sensing banshee powers,” Lydia says airily, like she's telling you the latest gossip. “Derek and your parents went after Ms. Blake, she beat the crap out of Derek, so he's not an alpha anymore, thank _God_ , and then your parents killed her. The rest of us went to rescue Scott's mom and Stiles's dad, except then the root cellar almost collapsed due to evil Darach magic and Scott saved us all by randomly becoming an alpha.”

“What?” you say blankly, staring at her. Isaac sniffles against your shoulder.

“It's been a busy, busy night,” Lydia says bitterly, and she won't look at you, her face very stiff.

“Are you okay?” you ask her, trying to focus on what's right in front of you instead of the million questions popping into your head.

She nods shortly, not looking fine at all. She turns toward you and swallows, the red mark around her neck a shocking contrast to her pale face.

“I'm really glad you're okay,” she whispers and you reach forward and clutch her hand.

Before you can ask anything else the door opens and Scott's mother comes through with a black square bag over her shoulder.

“Hi, Allison,” she says, smiling at you faintly. She looks exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, skin wan. “How are you feeling?”

“I just have a headache, but I'm okay,” you tell her. Her smile is very brittle and you feel uncomfortable under her attention. If she was just coming back from being _kidnapped_ ...she shouldn't be worrying over you.

“I'm just going to check you out, okay?” she says tiredly, sitting on the end of the bed. “We pumped your stomach and gave you an antidote, but you really should still be in hospital.”

“I'm fine,” you reassure her and reluctantly peel Isaac off you, so she can take your blood pressure and examine your eyes and mouth.

Scott comes in behind her, looking incredibly reluctant, his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. You look at him with new eyes while his mom listens to your heartbeat with a stethoscope. An alpha? How? He hadn't killed one. You thought that was the only way betas or omegas could become alphas. You remember his eyes turning red briefly last week at the abandoned mall, but you thought it was a fluke, a trick of the light. Not...

Scott doesn't seem too happy about it either. He looks as tired as his mother.

“Are you okay?” you ask him worriedly.

Scott frowns, looking almost hurt by this question. “Yeah, I'm good,” he says with a tired smile. “I'm glad you're okay. You were really...” he trails off, mouth trembling with suppressed emotion.

“Why did she poison me?” you ask, suddenly feeling cold. You could have died. It happened so fast. If Scott hadn't taken you to the hospital right away...

“A distraction, I think,” Lydia says quietly. Isaac says nothing, just watches Scott's mom finish checking you over with anguished eyes.

“Your vitals are all fine, but I'd take it easy for the next few days, okay?” Scott's mom says, pulling away from you and standing up shakily.

“Mom, are you-” Scott says, going to her side, lifting his hands as if he's worried she might fall.

“I'm sorry, I just really need to lie down,” she says with a wince. “Aspirin should be fine.”

As she leaves the room you notice ropeburn on her wrists and feel even worse. God. Random alpha-ness aside, no wonder Scott is so miserable.

Isaac wraps his arms around your waist and buries his head in your shoulder again, hands trembling. As you rub his back you realize your t-shirt's on backward and try not to think about strange doctors undressing you. You hope Isaac was the one who put your clothes back on at least.

Lydia lets out a disdainful sniff as she lies back down on the bed, but she presses her thigh against your hip, hiding her face in Scott's pillow.

You turn to look at Scott helplessly and your stomach drops at the misery on his face.

“I'll leave you alone,” he says quietly and exits the room before you can call him back.

You lie back down on the bed, pulling Isaac with you, and reach for Lydia's hand again. She grips it back tightly and you take slow deep breaths, trying to calm your heartbeat even as Isaac cries silently into your shoulder.

It's over, you tell yourself. You're safe. Everyone's safe.

But it doesn't feel like it. You may not have died this time, but you're left with the sobering realization of just how vulnerable you are.

It's weird going home, almost as weird as going home after you killed Gerard. Your parents immediately notice your sickly pallor and don't believe your food poisoning excuse. Instead they accuse you of drinking and complain about your continued association with “that Martin girl.”

You're too tired to argue with them and just go up to bed before they say something that makes you mad enough to lose your temper. You sleep badly-your headache was alleviated by the aspirin you took earlier, but it does nothing for your sore throat. A side-effect of having a tube down your throat, no doubt. It's strange that you don't remember any of it. Almost like it didn't really happen.

You take the next day off and spend it being lazy and watching dumb chick flicks and comedies on your laptop. You still don't feel a hundred percent, but the day after you force yourself to go to school because you can easily see yourself retreating further and further into yourself if you keep this up. Isaac would probably freak out and risk your parents' wrath trying to see you. You just have to force things to go back to normal.

You're getting out of your car in the school parking lot, shaking with anxiety even though it doesn't make any sense, when you see Scott and Isaac ride into the parking lot on Scott's bike. It's nothing you haven't seen before-they ride together most days, unless Scott has morning lacrosse practice, but for some reason it makes you freeze in your tracks, halfway through shutting your car door. Isaac is pressed up against Scott's back, arms around his waist-of course, it's not like there's a lot of room on that bike- and the sight makes you ache with want. You watch them get off the bike and take their helmets off, entranced by their easy camaraderie. Scott still looks a little tired, but he's smiling at Isaac and Isaac looks so happy...A wave of envy rushes through you. You feel like you're watching them from behind a glass wall, even though you could easily walk across the parking lot and join them. You'd do anything to join them in this moment, be between them, for them to look at you the way they're looking at each other.

The moment is ruined when Stiles walks up to them grumpily, glaring at Isaac and dragging Scott off towards the building. Isaac scowls after them, but you empathize with Stiles. He'd had Scott to himself for so long. You don't think you'd like Lydia becoming good friends with some other girl and you've only been friends a couple months.

Isaac starts to follow Scott and Stiles towards the school and you panic. You know it's stupid, but it feels like you're being left behind. You shut your car door and dash across the parking lot, not even bothering to check that your car locked properly as you hit the lock button on your keys.

“Hey!” you say, coming up behind Isaac.

“Allison,” he says, turning around and looking relieved, even though you texted him last night to tell him you were coming back to school . You latch onto his arm and he blinks at you in confusion, because you really are not much for PDA. When you're sober. “You okay?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” you say firmly, even though your heart is going a hundred miles an hour. You don't let go of his arm until you reach your locker.

 

* * *

 

Even missing one day of school results in a lot of make-up work and you skip lunch to read a couple chapters in your American History book. It's pretty boring, not only because it's history, but also because you took American History freshman year when you lived in San Francisco and it's the same textbook. Still, you need to get your grades up this year.

“Hey, have you seen Scott?” Isaac asks after lunch ends and you meet him in front of your French classroom.

“He wasn't at lunch?”

“No,” Isaac replies with a scowl. “I had to eat with Stiles and Lydia.”

You struggle to suppress a smile, because that sounds like a disaster.

You see Scott in Physics, but there's something...You can't quiet put your finger on it, but there's something wrong. It's not anything obvious, but there's a sense of defeat in his expression, even as he smiles and works on his lab with Stiles. Is his mother okay? Or does it have to do with him becoming an alpha?

It bothers you the rest of the day, which is relief, because it actually distracts you from freaking out every time your stomach grumbles and you think you've been poisoned again.

“Hey, what are you doing this afternoon?” you ask, catching up with Scott and Stiles at Stiles's locker. Isaac is working and Lydia is doing something with her dad, so you're completely free to investigate Scott's odd behavior.

“Playing video games,” Stiles says pointedly, putting his arm around Scott's shoulder. “Assassin's Creed Marathon, actually. I'm going to kick his ass.”

Wow, possessive much? you think, surprised at his clear dismissal.

“Stiles,” Scott says, frowning at him.

“Sounds fun,” you say with forced cheerfulness. You actually like video games, in theory, but you never had much of a chance to play them outside of hanging out at friends' houses. Your parents think they're a waste of time. “Can I come?”

“'Course,” Scott says generously, a little surprised at your forwardness.

“Yeah, 'course,” Stiles parrots, looking aggrieved.

It's awkward, pretending to be cheerful and excited about spending the afternoon playing video games after what just happened, but you manage to muddle through with minimal uncomfortable pauses. At least until Stiles's dad calls around five and Stiles reluctantly heads home. He just found out about the supernatural and is low-key freaking out about it. Leaving just you and Scott, sitting on opposite ends of the couch.

“How are you feeling?” Scott says suddenly, after a minute of uncomfortable silence, the two of your staring at the menu screen without making any effort to play another game or turn it off. “I didn't...I didn't ask you...I forgot,” he says guiltily.

“Fine,” you say with an awkward shrug. “To be honest, I don't remember much.”

“Oh,” Scott says, but he doesn't look any more reassured.

“I feel like I should be asking you that question,” you says mildly, trying not to sound too accusatory. It doesn't work with Isaac and you think it'd be even less effective on Scott. He'd just deflect.

“Why?” he says, eyes widening too innocently, tone too casual for you to buy.

“Lydia said you're an alpha now,” you say carefully, wanting to get to the point, but wary of scaring him off.

Scott looks away from you, back at the TV screen. “Yeah,” he says gruffly. “Deaton said it happens sometimes, by like, power of will or something...” he mutters. “S'called a True Alpha.”

You've never heard of this before, but you refrain from asking any more questions. It's clear Scott is not happy about it and doesn't want to talk about it.

“It means...you're stronger, right?” you say, because it doesn't sound that bad, to be honest. You wouldn't ever want to be a werewolf, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't envy their strength and resilience. Their healing abilities, especially after what just happened. It would be nice not to feel so vulnerable all the time.

“Yeah,” Scott shrugs, and gives you a fake smile. “I guess.”

What's wrong? you want to ask, getting more worried at his despondent behavior. This isn't like him.

You don't realize it until now, but you have a lot of experience dealing with people who don't want to talk about their feelings, so you get up and sit down right next to him, reaching down to hold his hand without thinking much about it. He startles, head jerking back to look at you in shock and it's only then that you realize it's kind of a weird thing to do for someone you've only just become friends with. But it's too late to back down, so you just look at him steadily and say. “Everything's going to be alright.”

He stares at you for a second, stunned, but before he can reply there's a key turning in the front door and Isaac walks into the front hall, his backpack slung over his shoulder. He stops when he sees you and Scott sitting on the couch in the living room and next to you Scott goes stiff, his hand pulling away from yours. You just grip it tighter and give Isaac a pointed look, jerking your head at the empty space on Scott's other side, because if this doesn't get resolved soon it's going to be extremely awkward.

“I wasn't-” Scott says guiltily, looking between you and Isaac in horror, but thankfully Isaac takes your hint and steps forward towards the couch to squeeze between Scott's other side and the end of the couch.

Scott's eyes widen as Isaac looks at him nervously and then quietly says. “Are you alright?”

Scott swallows and then his face crumples. He pitches forward and his head falls into his free hand, elbows on his thighs. “Shit,” he says shakily, eyes squeezed closed.

You put your hand on his back and get an inappropriate thrill when you rub over his t-shirt gently. That you're allowed to do this. You're a terrible person, because the only reason for that is that he's upset.

“I didn't...I didn't do it on purpose, I never wanted,” Scott says, the words tumbling out of him like water breaking through a dam. “The full moon's next Sunday and I don't...”

“The full moon?” you mouth at Isaac, confused. He thinks that's going to be a problem for him, as an alpha?”

“You're going to be fine,” you tell him when Isaac just looks back at you helplessly, reaching around to grip the other side of his waist and leaning into his side as far as you dare. “I know you'll be.”

“I just...I don't know what it means, just when I was getting used to being an omega,” Scott continues tremulously. “Stiles...Stiles thinks it's cool, but I didn't want to be _more_ of a monster than I alr-”

“You're not a monster,” Isaac cuts him off, putting his hand hesitantly on his shoulder, like he thinks Scott might get mad at him for it. He leans down a bit to see his face better, eyes very focused. “Don't...don't say that. We'll, we'll help you.”

“No, I don't want anyone near me,” Scott says shakily, shoulders hunching further. “Deaton doesn't know much, neither does Ms. Morrell-”

“Ms. Morrell? Our _French_ teacher?” you say, shocked, because this is the first time you're hearing of this.

“She's Deaton's sister,” Isaac mutters and rubs Scott's shoulder carefully.

“I just...I just have to figure out what this is,” Scott finishes morosely.

“Okay,” you say quietly, cowed by the fear in his voice.

Scott takes a sharp breath and sits up, leaning back against the couch so you have to pull your arm away.

“Sorry,” he says, staring up at the ceiling.

You force down a sudden burst of anger at his apology, because what is _he_ sorry for? He didn't do anything, this was done to him, why does he always have to do that?

It seems to have the opposite effect on Isaac, who stares at Scott longingly, eyes trailing up his body, biting his lip absentmindedly. For a second you wouldn't be at all surprised if he climbed into Scott's lap.

He doesn't, of course. Even Isaac has more sense than that.

Scott doesn't move to get up, so you don't let go of his hand. Instead he closes his eyes, expression very brittle and grips your hand back. The three of you sit there for a long time.

 

* * *

 

Lydia decides you're all going to Homecoming, pretty much overnight. Isaac is irritated, but you think it might be fun actually. You haven't been to a school dance since the incoming freshman dance a couple weeks before you saw your parents kill Emily Doroshenko. You do have fun finding a dress, a dark red V-neck that makes your ass and boobs look amazing and you think might be fun to have sex in. You expect surprise from your parents that you're actually voluntarily involving yourself in a school function, but you weren't expecting an interrogation.

“Do you have a date?” your father asks suspiciously, putting his book down on the coffee table.

“No, I'm going in a group,” you reply, slowly backing out of the living room and heading for the stairs.

“Will there be boys in this group?” he asks, giving you a stern look that means you're not going to be allowed to leave without finishing this conversation.

“Yes,” you say, coming back into the living room in resignation. You almost forgot how annoying he used to be about you having male friends. Poor Tom Jenkins was never the same after your father interrogated him about his intentions when he came over to watch a movie at your house one day after school when you were in sixth grade.

“Scott and Stiles?” he asks, surprising you by remembering their names.

“Yeah,” you say, shrugging uncomfortably. “We hang out sometimes.”

“You've never mentioned them before,” your mother says mildly, glancing up from her newspaper to look at you over the top of her reading glasses.

“Not much to say,” you say boredly. “They're in a couple of my classes.”

“Be back here by 11:30,” your mother says, looking back down at her newspaper. “No sleeping over at Lydia's.”

You clench your jaw angrily because you had _plans_ at Lydia's, mostly involving Isaac sans clothing, but you know there's no point in fighting them when they've given you a direct order. “Okay.”

You think that's the end of that, but unfortunately you don't get off that easy. Your dad decides he's going to drive you to the dance, in an extremely transparent guise to check out Scott and Stiles. You're furious, but there's nothing you can do about it but text Isaac to not wait for you in the parking lot.

“Hi, Mr. Argent,” Lydia says when you walk up to the front of the school in a disturbingly flirtatious tone. She's wearing a tight dark blue strapless dress that barely covers her ass and shockingly high silver heels, complete with sparkly earrings. She looks great, but you're still relieved when your dad grimaces a bit.

“Hello, Lydia,” he says and then looks immediately over to Scott and Stiles in their second-hand suits. “Boys.”

“Hi,” Scott says, smiling pleasantly. “You look nice, Allison.” He's not even looking at your dress though, he's looking at your hair, which is up in a bun instead of down like it usually is. That annoys you for some reason.

“I trust you'll behave yourselves,” your father says seriously and you cringe behind him.

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Stiles says, looking impatient and nervous. He has a ton of gel in his hair and keeps having to stop himself from touching it.

Your father takes a second to look sternly at both of them and turns back to you. “11:30, Allison,” he says pointedly.

“Yes, sir,” you say sarcastically.

“Alright, c'mon, Allison, I have to fix your make-up,” Lydia says, reaching forward to pull you towards her. “See you later!”

“Thank you,” you mutter, while you walk arm in arm towards the entrance to the gym, practically feeling your father's glare on your back.

“Is he always like that?” she asks, sounding unimpressed. “Ugh, I'm so glad my parents cut the apron strings years ago.”

Lydia declares your mascara-applying skills horrendous and redoes your eyeliner and lipstick before she lets you out of the girls bathroom and into the dance. You grin at the cheap decorations and colored lights, while you head towards Stiles and Scott waiting at a table in the back, but it fades when you see Isaac on the other side of the room, talking to Erica and Boyd. Why are they even here? you think, stomach twisting uncomfortably. Neither of them really seem like high school dance people. Isaac sees you by the time you reach your table and parts from Erica and Boyd to head in your direction.

“Hey,” he says, sliding into the seat between you and Scott and looking you up at down interestedly. “I _like_ your dress.”

“I bet you do,” you mutter and smirk at him. Next to him Scott studiously examines his napkin.”I like your tie.”

Isaac's suit is wrinkled and a little too short for him, but his tie is a nice blue color that matches his eyes. Isaac's always looked good in blue, though he rarely wears it so you're guessing Scott's mom had a hand in this one. It makes you happy to think of her helping Isaac pick what to wear for Homecoming.

“Okay, let's dance,” Lydia says bossily. She looks over Scott and Stiles contemplatively and then smiles. “Scott. Come dance with me.”

“Uh...” Scott says, glancing at Stiles. “No, I'm...I'm okay.”

“Not taking no for an answer,” Lydia says cheerfully, getting up from her seat and walking past you to stand next to him. She grabs his arm and pulls him up. “Let's go.”

“Sorry,” Scott mouths at Stiles as Lydia pulls him in the direction of the dance floor, who scowls after them. Isaac takes one look at Stiles's unhappy expression and then gets up as well, offering you a hand.

You dance a bit to bad pop music and overly emotional slow songs, but it's fun to stand so close to Isaac, his hands low on your back, while you sway to the music. You're probably pretty bad at grinding, but that's fun too. After about an hour you catch sight of Lydia and Stiles dancing near you and frown, turning away from Isaac to find Scott. You don't see him on the dance floor and when you crane your neck you spot him back at the table, looking at something on his phone. You release Isaac's waist and pull his hands off your ass.

“We should go over and talk to him,” you say.

“Or not,” Isaac says, raising his head from where he was trying to look down your dress and following your gaze to Scott.

He starts walking in Scott's direction and you follow after him in confusion, not sure what he means.

“Hey, come dance with us,” Isaac says after you weave through the other dancers and tables to reach Scott.

Scott looks up from his phone at him in surprise. “Uh, okay,” he says and gets up easily.

Isaac grins wolfishly, the grin he always gets on his face when you're about to have sex. You look at him in horror because what is he doing, he can't just _look_ at Scott like that, like he wants to devour him.

Isaac takes your hand and pulls you back to the dance floor, with more confidence than you expect. Scott follows after you and thankfully a fast song starts up, so you don't have to stand there and sway awkwardly to the music. It's Born This Way and you're surprised to see Scott grinning when you turn around to face him on the dance floor.

“I like this song,” he says, without a hint of embarrassment.

“Yeah?” Isaac says and puts his hand on your waist, pulling you close, but still facing Scott.

You don't know why you do it, but you reach out for his arm, pulling his hand to the other side of your waist.

“You're a Lady Gaga fan?” you ask casually, like Scott isn't staring at you with wide eyes, because this will only be weird if you let it be.

“Yeah,” he replies, seeming to make the conscious decision to not be awkward and sways to the music as the chorus comes on.

It's weird, you know it's weird, and people around you give you odd looks, including Jackson, though he very quickly looks away when you raise your eyebrows at him. But Scott doesn't seem to mind and it's fun to dance with him, even though you don't dare touch him anywhere else besides the waist. Isaac doesn't touch him at all, though he clearly wants to by the heated looks he gives him under his eyelashes, and you're both so sexually frustrated that bidding him goodnight at the end of the dance is _painful_.

Your dad drives you home and you try to just go to bed, but you have way too much energy to fall asleep. You masturbate twice, but it doesn't even begin to take the edge off and just makes you want to have sex _more_.

Screw it, you think at quarter to two and get out of bed. You grab your keys and climb out your window, because apparently you're the kind of girl who sneaks out in the middle of the night to have sex with her boyfriend. You'd probably be more ashamed of that fact if you weren't so horny.

You remember Scott's story about Stiles climbing in his window their entire childhood and find that, yes, it is fairly easy to scale the pole holding up the roof of his walk-around porch. That seems like something they should probably fix, especially in this town, but you're not complaining now as you walk across the flat roof to the nearest window.

It ends up being Scott's window and your eyes widen as you realize he is right there, his bed right under the window. He's asleep, thank God, and shirtless, and you tear your eyes away and sneak as quietly as you can past to the next window. You try not to think about the bare skin of his back, the sheets pooled around his waist. You remember him in his boxers when you woke up in his room after being poisoned, but you were a little too preoccupied to enjoy the view. You wonder if his thighs look as good in boxers as Isaac's do. You don't know why that detail does it for you, but every time he takes his pants off you find your eyes drawn to them.

“Isaac,” you hiss quietly, crouching down next to the window and tapping on it softly. “Isaac, open the window.”

There's a pause and then you see a dark shape moving inside the room, heading towards you. Isaac pulls open the window and stares at you with wide eyes. “Allison?” he whispers. “What are you doing here?”

You slide inside the room without answering and lean in to kiss him, running your hands down his bare chest to reach the hem of his boxers.

“Shit, oh, _Allison_ ,” Isaac moans, pressing his nose into your neck and inhaling. You know what he must be smelling, how wet you are, and lean back a little to pull off your pajama t-shirt. It would have been more fun to have sex in your dress, all you'd have to do is hike it up, but this is good too. Anything is good as long he gets his dick in you as soon as possible.

Unfortunately Isaac has other ideas, the oral-obsessed freak. You fall back onto his bed, but the air mattress is not exactly made for having sex on and it makes too much noise, so you end up on the floor.

“Condom, c'mon,” you hiss, pushing down your underwear and grinding your hips down on his erection.

“Gimme a minute,” Isaac pants. You're so turned on you could probably come from this alone, but Isaac has other plans and lifts you off him and up onto his-

“Isaac!” you squeak as he licks up into you, but you grind down on his face reflexively and try not to whimper at his talented mouth under you and the grip of his hands on your inner thighs.

What the hell, you think as heat builds in your abdomen and you hunch over and grab the wood floor for something to hold onto. What the hell, what the hell, what the hell, why is he, can he even breathe like that? Why did he, you're _sitting on his face_ , and God, it's good, being able to just _grind_ , but how is this-

Your breaths are very loud in the dark room and after a while your knees begin to protest on the hard floor. You clap a hand over your mouth as you start to whimper, and when you come your whole body jerks so violently you almost fall over.

“Oh,” you say hoarsely when Isaac rolls you over onto your back and plants his wet face in your boobs. You clutch his shoulders and squirm a little under him, because that was good, but _not enough_. “Isaac, come on, just-”

You almost tell him that he doesn't need a condom, that you're on birth control, but he's already getting up to get his wallet out of his jeans, leaving you panting up at the ceiling. When he comes back you wrap one arm around his shoulders and grab his ass with your other hand, urging him to push into you. He moans at how wet you are, how easy it is to thrust in and out of you, and then you're off, fucking right there on the floor. You have sex twice, once normal and once with you bouncing in his lap while he rubs at your clit and gropes your boobs, and the second time all you can think about is him picking you up, slamming you against the wall that separates his and Scott's rooms and fucking you until you scream and Scott wakes up.

“Oh, my God,” Isaac moans loudly into your boobs after you're done, the two of you collapsed on the floor, which you're definitely going to have to wipe down.

“Shh!” you say, grabbing his shoulder in alarm and he stiffens for a second and then relaxes.

“Still asleep,” he mumbles. “Just, God, I love your pussy.”

You roll your eyes, because like he has much to compare it to.

“And that _dress_ you wore tonight, not fair,” Isaac continues sleepily. “I couldn't even jerk off when we got home. Not even in the shower, because you can still totally tell.”

You raise your eyebrows even though he can't see you. “And how do you know that?”

Isaac is silent.

“Isaac!” you hiss, appalled. “You _listen_ to him in the shower?!”

“Not on purpose,” Isaac blatantly lies, kissing one of your nipples in a pathetic attempt at distraction.

You groan quietly, too tired to lecture him about how gross that is and push him off you so you can unsteadily get to your feet.

“Stay,” Isaac says, sitting up while you pull on your pajama bottoms.

“I really shouldn't,” you say half-heartedly, but he gives you this pleading look that you're unable to resist even in the dark. You give in with a sigh and let him pull you onto the air mattress and wrap himself around you under the blankets.

 

* * *

 

You wake up around dawn, Isaac snoring quietly in your ear, his right hand wrapped around one of your boobs. You smile despite yourself and snuggle back into him, feeling warm and safe and wanted. You don't want to get up, though you know you have to if you're to get back home in time so your parents don't realize you snuck out, but before you can muster the willpower to get up and look at Isaac's phone to see what time it is there's a soft knock on the door.

“Um,” Scott says from behind the door, sounding incredibly uncomfortable, clearly able to tell you're there. “Hi. I just...uh...wanted to let you know that my mom's shift ends at 7:00, so she should be home soon, so...”

And just because she's decided to help you not get pregnant doesn't mean she'd be okay with you having sex in her house. You get out of bed quickly, your thighs aching, pull your t-shirt on and open the door.

“Hey,” you say and Scott's eyes widen in surprise. He's wearing a shirt now and jeans. You're a little disappointed.

“Hi,” Scott says, eyes moving past you to where Isaac is naked on the bed, still sleeping, and dart back to you quickly. “I just...uh, I'm not really sure how she'd react to you sleeping over, so...”

“Okay,” you say easily, but don't move. You watch him shift uncomfortably and you _burn_. You want him and it irritates you that you can't have him. “Do you want to come in?”

Scott stops avoiding your gaze and stares at you. “What?”

You don't say anything, heart hammering in your chest, because did you really just say that? Scott looks utterly bewildered and you become suddenly aware that your knees are probably covered in bruises from last night and he can see them because your pajama bottoms only reach your mid-thigh, not to mention a picture of your hair is probably in the dictionary next to the definition of “sex hair.”

Behind you Isaac groans in his sleep, mumbling nonsensically. The word “boobs” is unfortunately all too intelligible.

You turn around to look at him and watch him shift on the air mattress, reaching out for you, the sheet slipping down to reveal his left ass cheek.

“Uh, I'll go,” Scott says and flees before you can even look back at him.

You close the door and look down at your knees. They are indeed bruised.

“Shit,” you mouth, cringing because _Do you want to come in?_ What is wrong with you?

“Why're you standing there?” Isaac asks sleepily, blinking up at you.

“I'll tell you later,” you mouth and say: “I gotta go.”

Isaac grumbles unhappily, but doesn't complain while you grab your keys and try to fix your hair.

“I'll see you at school Monday,” you tell him and lean down to kiss him quickly. “Text me about tonight, okay?”

Tonight. The full moon. The first one since Scott became an alpha. True Alpha or whatever. You find it hard to believe it will be a problem, but what do you know?

You manage to get back home without your parents noticing and Isaac texts you around midnight to say that Scott's fine. It's a relief, but you're mostly concerned with your major faux pas this morning. He's totally going to think you're a crazy slut, you think miserably.

“Okay, what's wrong?” Lydia asks you the next afternoon, when you fail to react to her new haul of clothes from the outlet mall.

You wince. “I did something really stupid,” you say, looking down at her bedspread instead of directly at her.

“You mean spending all night dancing with your boyfriend and another guy?” Lydia says, putting down her new skirt and sitting at the foot of her bed in front of you. “Oh, sweetheart, you know Isaac has a crush on Scott, don't you?”

“Yeah,” you say with a shrug.

Her lips thin and you realize she's angry on your behalf. “You can do better than him,” she tells you seriously. “Don't put up with that, you deserve better.”

“It's not that,” you say uncomfortably. “I...It'd be hypocritical of me to be mad at him for that considering I also...have a crush on Scott.”

“Oh,” Lydia says after a long pause. You glance up at her and she looks sort of bemused. You're not surprised-you doubt this kind of thing happens very often.

“Which he has probably figured out, since I sort of propositioned him yesterday morning,” you admit shamefully.

“Oh,” Lydia says again. “You...yesterday morning?”

“I snuck out to see Isaac,” you say, closing your eyes, cheeks burning. “And ended up staying the night.”

“Really,” Lydia says, raising her eyebrows. “Okay, quick sidebar, he's getting you off, right? He has to be. You have _so much_ sex with hi-”

“Lydia!” you protest, eyes snapping open to stare at her incredulously.

“I'm not judging,” she says, holding up her hands defensively. “Obviously. I'm just so curious.”

“I am very satisfied with my sex life,” you tell her stiffly.

“Details, Allison, _details_ ,” she says long-sufferingly. “Okay, fine, back to yesterday morning. What did you say? I have to admit I have a hard time imagining you propositioning anyone.”

“He knocked on the door to tell us that his mom was going to be home soon and I sort of asked him to come in,” you say awkwardly. “Isaac was still asleep.”

“Ah,” Lydia says, wincing a bit. “Not exactly propositioning, but sort of hard to pretend is anything else. What did he say?”

“He left,” you reply glumly. “Isaac started waking up.”

“But you wanted him to come in?” Lydia asks carefully. “With you and Isaac?”

“Yeah,” you say, blushing.

“I've slept with a lot of guys, but I've never had a threesome,” Lydia says contemplatively. “I don't think it'd really be my thing. I like super straight guys.”

You let out a noncommittal grunt, not really interested in continuing this conversation.

“Scott, though?” Lydia asks you with a frown. “How long have you been interested in him?”

“A while,” you say and smile despite yourself. “I thought he was cute when we first met, but then he handed me a pen-I'd been on the phone with my mother outside and I told her I couldn't find a pen- and I knew what he was. I tried to stay away from him after that. Figured it'd be safer.”

“I had no idea,” Lydia says mildly. “You've got a good poker face. Unlike your boyfriend. You should really tell him to stop looking at Scott like a piece of meat. Right now Stiles just thinks he's trying to steal his best friend, do you have any idea what he'll do when he figures out he wants to blow him?”

Which leaves you with _that_ mental image, thank you very much, Lydia.

“Allison Argent,” Lydia says slowly, a smirk spreading across her face. “You are full of surprises.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever,” you sniff, trying to play it cool.

“He likes you, you know,” Lydia offers quietly. Her tone is very bland, but you give her a cold look at the what she's implying.

“Just saying,” Lydia says defensively.

Does he really, though? You know he used to, but a lot's happened since he asked you out all those months ago. You want him, but you know you can't have him. As far as you can tell he's straight. And...

Scott would never be with a murderer.

“Did you hurt your knee?” Lydia asks when she notices you winces when you shift up on the bed to make room for her to sit next to you.

“It's from the floor,” you say without thinking.

Lydia raises her eyebrows at you.

You roll your eyes. “Air mattresses are not made for sex,” you explain, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“...Uh huh,” Lydia says, looking very surprised and it kind of amuses you.

“There's no carpet in his room,” you continue casually. “So my knees are all bruised up. From kneeling. Over his face.”

You get a special sort of joy from the scandalized look on Lydia Martin's face. Hey, she wanted details.

 

* * *

 

Scott won't quite meet your eyes the next day at lunch and you try to pretend it doesn't bother you, that everything is normal, but of course Isaac notices.

“What's up with you and Scott?” he asks after school, while you're sitting in the grass in the forest preserve with your Algebra II book, enjoying the last few days of warmth before it starts to get really cold.

“I...” you say, and try to figure out the best way to word it. “I...after Homecoming he knocked on your door to tell us that his mom would be coming home soon,” you say, watching Isaac's face turn white. “And I...sort of invited him in.”

For a second Isaac's brows furrow in confusion and then his eyes widen. “What?!” he hisses.

“I don't...I didn't think, I just,” you say defensively, hiding your face in your hands. “He was just there and I wanted...but he left.”

“No shit,” Isaac says angrily and you look up in surprise to see him glaring at you and feel the bottom drop out of your stomach. “You know he's not...Allison, don't do that! I have to live there, you know. He can't know that I...that we...”

“I know that!” you snap automatically. “It was stupid, but I'm not the one who stares at him all the time with your....your...stupid _heart_ eyes!”

“'Heart eyes?'” he repeats, bewildered.

“You know what I'm talking about,” you say, but you regret bringing it up in the first place even though he really should stop. You glare down at your hands in your lap and hate this conversation.

“You shouldn't have done that,” Isaac says, voice shaking with suppressed emotion. “You think he'll let me stay if he know...I don't, I don't have anywhere else to go, I can't stay with Derek again.”

“He wouldn't do that,” you say uncertainly, looking up at him again. He's angry with you, you realize, the pit of your stomach starting to feel cold. He's never been angry with you before. “I'm...I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have.”

Isaac doesn't reply, just looks away from you, muscle in his jaw spasming.

“I'm sorry,” you repeat, starting to feel really scared, because he's _mad_ at you, he can't be mad at you.

You scoot over on the grass and wrap your arms around his waist, pressing in close so he's forced to look at you. “I'm sorry,” you whisper, your breath ghosting his cheek.

“Fine,” Isaac grunts, not making eye contact.

You press your face into his neck and don't let go of him. “I'm really sorry.”

He lets out an annoyed puff of breath, stiff under your hands. “Alright, Allison, fine,” he says impatiently, putting a hand on your shoulder to pry you off him.

You don't let go and take a page out of his book, nuzzling at his neck insistently.

Isaac lets off a soft groan and scoffs. “Allison, okay,” he says, putting his hand on your back and patting it awkwardly.

“I'm sorry,” you mumble and feel his neck warm under your lips.

“This is...you're just...” Isaac says weakly, fingers clenching at the small of your back and then gives up and ducks down to kiss you.

You drag him down on top of you right in the middle of the forest preserve and undo his belt one handed, sticking your hand down his boxers to cup him. Isaac moans loudly and hardens in your hand, and you pull him out and jerk him off for a bit, enjoying the way his body gives little jerks every once and a while and the way he moans into your neck. He's heavy, but he feels good on top of you, even though there's a stick digging into your back, and you kind of weirdly like the feel of his dick in your hand. It's good, but you know it could be better, if you really want to show how sorry you are. It's not a hard decision at all, and after a minute you roll him onto his back and slide down to give him an apology blowjob.

It's pretty gross and you are objectively terrible at it, but Isaac doesn't seem to mind by the way he squeaks “ _Allison_!” and then spends the next two minutes or so moaning obnoxiously. You can't really fit that much of his dick in his mouth and you keep choking when he thrusts up into your mouth unexpectedly, but thankfully he doesn't last too long. Though you would have appreciated some warning before he _comes in your mouth_.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Isaac gasps as you spit out his come onto the grass and try not to gag because _gross_.

You resist the urge to bitch about the taste and just wipe your mouth and crawl up his body to nuzzle at his neck again.

Isaac groans weakly and wraps his arms around your waist, skin very hot to the touch.

“Remind me to get mad at you more often,” he says, sounding dazed, and you scowl and pinch him in the side. “Ow.”

“I really didn't mean to,” you mumbles after a pause, not removing your face from his neck. “It just...slipped out.”

“Yeah, okay,” Isaac says wearily and slides his hands up your shirt to take off your bra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter is long. I think I crammed too much into one chapter, but oh well, it was fun. Please comment!


	19. I've got nothing left to prove

Scott doesn't say anything about Homecoming, and you and Isaac take your cues from him and pretend that nothing happened. He looks at you strangely sometimes, when he thinks you aren't paying attention, and that bothers you, it's true, but you tell yourself that it's better he thinks you're a weirdo instead of Isaac. Other than that he seems much happier than he was the week before. With the full moon come and gone and seemingly no repercussions from his change to True Alpha-hood or whatever, he seems a lot more carefree. It makes you happier than you thought it would to see him so unburdened and you resolve to suppress your weird attraction to him as much as possible. He doesn't need any more drama in his life.

Except he doesn't seem to realize that when he invites Erica and Boyd to sit with you at lunch. Isaac seems pleased, and he and Scott try very hard to keep the conversation going, but the rest of you are not amused. You and Lydia aren't going to forgive Erica any time soon for _breaking Lydia's nose_ last year and Stiles just seems mad about _more_ competition for Scott's attention.

“So why isn't Cora at school?” Scott asks conversationally, taking a drink of his Gatorade. “She's our age, right?”

“Yeah, but she hasn't been in school for a while,” Boyd explains with a shrug. “And she doesn't really want to go back.”

“So what does she _do_ all day?” Stiles asks peevishly. “What does _Derek_ do all day for that matter?”

Both Erica and Boyd pause and look at him blankly.

“You know, I have no idea,” Boyd says finally.

You let out a snort of laughter before you think better of it.

“Find that funny?” Erica snaps defensively, her bright red lips pursed disapprovingly.

“Yeah, a little,” you reply coolly, because of course Derek wouldn't do anything useful like have a job.

“Allison, don't,” Isaac mutters next to you.

You hold up your hands in surrender and don't say anything else, but Erica is still glaring at you while Boyd looks extremely uncomfortable.

“Well, this has been fun,” Lydia says, throwing her napkin down onto her empty plate. “Let's never do this again.”

“Lydia,” Scott says reprovingly, looking hurt.

“I'm sorry, am I supposed to pretend that this is going well?” Lydia asks, raising her eyebrows pointedly at him. “ _She_ broke my nose last year, for absolutely no reason. And now you think we should be friends?”

Scott looks conflicted and then turns to Erica. “She does have a point,” he says calmly.

“Because she's a bitch,” Erica says unapologetically and to be honest you're a bit surprised how angry she seems when _Lydia_ is the victim here. Did Lydia do something to her? It's not...completely implausible.

“Better than some unemployed loser's guard dog,” Lydia sneers. “Or maybe that's not all you are. Maybe he keeps you around for other reasons.”

Boyd shoots to his feet so fast you jerk back and shock and almost fall off the bench. “You shut your mouth,” he snarls, eyes flashing yellow.

“Lydia!” Scott says, horrified.

“Please, like that's the first time she's heard that,” Lydia says dismissively, waving her hand at Erica, who's expression is closed and hostile. “You think no one around here noticed Derek Hale picking you up in that Camaro last year? And look at what you wear,” she says gesturing at her lowcut corset-like top.

“Lydia, that's enough!” Scott says sharply, looking angry and disgusted.

Lydia rolls her eyes and gets up, heading across the school yard back inside without another word.

There's a long silence after she leaves and you look down at your plate and spear a limp green bean with your fork just for something to do.

“I told you she's a bitch,” Erica says harshly, voice shaking a little and Boyd sits back down next to her stiffly.

“You did break her nose,” you say flatly, still looking down at her plate.

“So? That was months ago,” Erica retorts, clearly having studied at the Derek Hale school of thought, where violence has no consequence.

“She shouldn't have said that to you,” Scott says harshly and when you look up his expression is set, while Erica's wavers a bit uncertainly. You've seen that expression before, worn it yourself. You wonder if you should start calling it the Scott McCall Effect.

“And she won't again, not if she doesn't want her nose broken a second time,” Boyd says angrily. You've never seen him lose his temper and you have to admit it's more than a little intimidating.

“There has been _enough_ violence,” Scott says, tone brokering no argument. “I'll go talk to her.”

He gets up and goes back into the school. You wonder vaguely if you should follow him, but decide against it. You trust Scott alone with Lydia. And anyway, you wouldn't have anything useful to contribute. It's not like Lydia said anything you didn't agree with, though you would never say any of it aloud. You had wondered about Erica after Derek turned her, after she started wearing those slutty clothes. Worried about her, that Derek might have taken advantage of her in more ways than one. You don't think it's true, especially since it became clear that Erica and Boyd are dating, but it doesn't surprise you that you aren't the only one wondering what's going on there. You don't see why Lydia had to use it as an insult, though. It's not particularly funny.

“Jeez, and I thought we were done with almost tearing each other's throats out,” Stiles says, looking at all of them skeptically. “Just my luck.”

Erica scoffs, but the rest of you say nothing. You glance over at Isaac and see his eyes trained on his plate of spaghetti, grip tight around his fork.

Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.

 

* * *

 

 You see Scott in the library after school, sitting at one of the tables with his head bent over his Pre-Calc textbook and head over to him without planning at all what you're going to say.

“Hey,” you say, dropping your backpack down next to the table leg and sitting down in the seat across from him.

“Hey,” he says, raising his head to look at you in confusion. “I thought you were giving Isaac a ride to work today. I have a group project in Spanish I have to work on this afternoon.”

“He didn't tell me,” you say, pulling out your phone to text him. “Where's the rest of your group?”

“Not here yet,” he says with a shrug.

Then why are you still here? you wonder. If you had a project and your peers didn't show you would just leave. This possibly explains your mediocre grades.

“How'd talking to Lydia go?” you ask, looking down at your phone while you text Isaac instead of at him.

“She didn't tell you?”

You shrug. Lydia had pretended she didn't hear you when you asked after lunch, so you figured that conversation wasn't going to happen.

“I just asked her to, you know, at least make an effort to be polite,” Scott says, voice a little tight. “I don't see why we can't just all get along. It's really not that hard.”

You look up at him mid-text, your stomach squirming uncomfortably for some reason. He has an irritated expression on his face, but it falls away once he realizes you're staring at him.

“Not all of us can be as forgiving as you,” you say as lightly as possible.

“I'm not asking anyone to forg-” Scott starts and then sags a little in his seat. “Or maybe I am, I dunno. I'm just sick of all the fighting. We all have to live together, we might as well get used to it.”

You can't tell if that's naïvete or practicality, you realize, and want to climb into his lap.

“I know you didn't do anything,” he continues and the _this time_ is implied. “But if you could just, I don't know, try to be less...hostile, it would just really help.”

You don't want to be less hostile, because the people you're hostile to _deserve_ it, but you suppose that asking you to play nice doesn't mean asking you to forgive them.

“Okay,” you say and shrug. You finish your text to Isaac and put your phone down on the table. “What's your Spanish project on?”

“Uh, we're supposed to do a skit,” Scott says, frowning a little and you fight to keep your face blank. You're supposed to be friends. Friends do normal things like ask about each other's homework, right? Why is he acting like it's weird? Other than the fact you came onto him last week. It's frustrating that you can't just erase it, make it never have happened at all. You know it's going to take time for it to fade away into some vague memory, but you hate it when he looks at you with that wary, confused look that says he's not really sure what your intentions are.

 _Where are you?_ Isaac responds.

 _Library_ , you reply quickly and look back up at Scott neutrally.

“Good luck,” you persist, trying to sound interested. “I always hated doing skits. Half the time you get those people in your group who never want to do any work.”

“Yeah,” Scott says with a sigh. “I always get the people who think I'm going to do all the work for them. Freshman year people thought I spoke Spanish at home and kept trying to get me to help them with their homework.”

“Really?” you say with a wince, though inwardly you note that, no, Scott doesn't speak Spanish. It's not that you thought he did, thought about it at all really, but it sounds like something that's bothered him in the past.

“Yeah,” he says ruefully and shrugs. “So how're classes going for you?”

“Okay,” you say and try not to cringe at the thought of them. “My grades are better than last year so far, but I still need to step it up for midterms. Econ's probably the hardest for me. It's a core class here, but I've never taken it before.”

“I can help you, if you want,” Scott offers kindly, though a bit more hesitantly than is probably normal for him. “I mean, I know Lydia'd probably be better, but I'm usually pretty good in Econ.”

“Lydia is a terrible tutor,” you tell him and he fights to suppress a grin. “I'm serious, she just says “Allison, read the book, it's so obvious!””

“Okay,” he says with a snort. “So what do you usually have troub-”

“Hey,” Isaac says from behind you and you turn around to see him loping towards you. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you I needed a ride.”

“No problem,” you say, getting up and picking up your backpack. “Good luck,” you tell Scott again and give him a brief smile.

“See you at home,” Isaac tells Scott cheerfully and turns back towards the library entrance. Scott watches him leave, a faint frown of puzzlement coming over his face for no reason you can see.

“Yeah, see you,” he says vaguely as you turn away as well, and you feel his eyes on you the whole way to the door.

 

* * *

 

 “Hey, you wanna go out for dinner tonight or see a movie, get a motel room?” Isaac asks after school the next day, popping an Icebreaker into his mouth as you walk to your car.

“Uh, I mean, we could,” you reply, not particularly interested because you're not really in the mood for sex right now. You kind of want to head over to Lydia's and veg out on stupid TV shows. “Why?”

You don't usually make plans to go out for dinner, you just do when you're hungry. This sounds all official, like a date.

“I mean, it could be fun,” Isaac says, turning around to look at you and walking backwards across the parking lot. “It's, well, it's my birthday today, so I was wondering if we could do something.”

“Your _birthday_?” you say incredulously. “ _Isaac_. Why didn't you say anything?”

He shrugs and turns back around to walk forward again. “It's not that big a deal.”

“Yes, it is,” you say, striding forward to catch up with him and nearly getting knocked over by an overenthusiastic freshman on the way to her carpool. “You should have told me.”

“I just did.”

“Like, a while ago,” you clarify. “Did you tell Scott? Or his mom?”

“No,” he says, giving you a strange look, and yeah, okay, it would be weird if he just announced it to them, like he expected them to do something. He was uncomfortable enough with Scott's mother's refusal to accept any money to pay for food or utilities.

“So how's being seventeen feel?” you ask him, reaching for his hand and clasping it warmly.

The left side of his mouth quirks up at you. “Why? You've been seventeen for months.”

“Almost ten months,” you correct and grin as he rolls his eyes. “C'mon, let's go celebrate.”

You go out to see 50/50, which is actually better than you thought it'd be. You strong-arm Isaac into treating him to a steakhouse for dinner, head to the usual motel, and blow him in the front seat of your car before you can even get a room.

“Good birthday?” you say when he falls face first onto the bed, not even bothering to kick off his shoes.

“Uh huh,” he mumbles into the comforter and you smirk in triumph, closing the door behind you and going into the bathroom to rinse out your mouth. After you're done you take off your boots and flop down beside him on the bed, running your hand down his back.

He turns his head to the side to look at you and scoots over so that his face is only inches from yours. “Hey,” he say gently, reaching over to put his hand on your waist. “You wanna...?”

“I'm kinda tired,” you admit, leaning forward to press your forehead against shoulder, his skin very hot even through the fabric of his terrible maroon t-shirt. You're pretty sure it's one of Scott's old ones.

“Can I go down on you?” he asks hopefully, fingers tracing the hem of your wool sweater.

You pause to consider this. You're a little wet from sucking him off earlier and lying back and letting him eat you out doesn't sound like it would expend that much energy.

“Yeah, okay,” you say, and Isaac beams and slides his hands up your shirt.

Half an hour later you're curled together under the covers watching bad TV when Isaac's phone (an old one of Lydia's instead of the terrible prepaid one) buzzes in his jeans discarded next to the bed. He leans over the side to pick them up and fishes it out of his pocket, before lying back down beside you and holding it up to his ear.

“Hey, Scott,” he says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you turn the volume down on the TV.

“Hey,” you hear Scott say on the other end. “Are you working today? What time are you coming home, 'cause it's almost nine, so I was wondering...”

“I'll be back late,” Isaac replies and looks amused when you bring the sheets up to cover your boobs, feeling a little too naked to be listening to Scott's unsuspecting voice over the phone. “You want me to pick something up on the way home?”

“Nah, it's okay, I was just wondering where you were, because I know you don't usually work on Thursdays anymore,” Scott says and you watch Isaac's expression go very soft, and feel a rush of gratitude for Scott, for him caring.

It's possibly why Isaac says next: “No, I'm not working, I'm just at the Rosebud motel with Allison.”

“...oh,” Scott says, sounding mortified. “Oh, God, I'm so sorry, I'll let you go,” and hangs up the phone before Isaac can respond.

“Really?” you say, frowning at Isaac, because you don't have to _remind_ Scott you're sleeping together. It seems likely to push the whole getting-back-to-normal thing back.

“It's not like he won't be able to smell it anyway,” Isaac says with an uncaring shrug and puts his phone on the bedside table.

“Gross,” you complain, because you hate the reminder that werewolves can smell everything, even incredibly awkward things like your period or if you've worn the same jeans too many days in a row. Isaac's such a baby about it too; he'd complained for a week when you changed your shampoo over the summer.

“Sometimes,” Isaac agrees and then burrows his nose in your neck like a dog and inhales deeply.

I should not find you attractive, you think somewhat resentfully, and kiss his temple before turning the volume back on the new episode of the Simpsons.

You're just dozing off when there's a loud knocking sound at the door and you sit up immediately, heart pounding as you think frantically that your parents have found you and that they're here to drag Isaac outside and shoot him in the head.

“It's Scott,” Isaac says in confusion and hops out of bed, pulling on his boxers as he makes his way to the door, barely giving you time to pull the sheets up to your chest. “What happened?” he asks seriously as he pulls the door open.

Scott is breathing heavily, face set, and for a second you think oh my God, someone's dead.

“Okay, look,” he says, stepping inside and Isaac steps back to give him more room. Scott looks at both of you and clenches his jaw. “Look, I...I have no idea what you want from me.”

Oh, no, you think, heart dropping into your stomach. No, no, no, he can't be talking about this.

“You look at me like...like you think I know what I'm doing, but I have _no clue_ ,” he says, voice starting to shake. His expression is strained, like he's trying to suppress his emotions, but you have no idea what they could be. Anger, sadness, annoyance maybe? “I don't know why...you just _look_ at me like you think I, _both_ of you, like you think I have all the answers, but I _don't_. I don't have any idea what I'm doing. I never have any idea what I'm doing.”

You have no idea what to say to that and part of you wants to crawl under the bed in shame for making him feel so uncomfortable.

“It's okay,” Isaac says carefully, and you can't see his face, but his body language is worried. “We don't really know what we're doing either.”

A long pause as Scott absorbs this. Then his upset expression melts into something desperate and then he's lunging forward to cup Isaac's face with his hands and kiss him fervently.

Isaac grabs Scott around the waist and pulls him right up against him to kiss him back without hesitation and your mouth drops open as you watch Scott's hand come around to grip the back of Isaac's neck and hear him gasp into his mouth. This...was not what you expected, you think, watching them and feeling more than a little dazed. How...why...Scott always seemed so straight and why...

Scott pulls back after a minute, panting and staring at Isaac, starstruck. Isaac makes a low sound of want in the back of his throat and tries to pull Scott back in again, but Scott resists and looks over his shoulder at you.

You feel your face flame at his gaze on you and you can't do anything but stare at him as he crosses the room, clutching the sheets to your chest like a lifeline. He crouches down a little in front of you, expression very soft, puts his hand on the side of your face, and kisses you just as sweetly as you always imagined he would. You're caught between holding onto the sheets and reaching out to touch him and before you can make your fingers uncurl he pulls away, though his hand remains on the side of your face.

He just looks at you for a second and then his eyes trail down and widen, seeming to realize for the first time that you're naked under the sheets. “Oh, God, I, uh-” he chokes, pulling his hand away from your face and standing up straight. You immediately feel bereft and think about it for approximately zero seconds before you drop the sheets and lunge out to grab his wrist and pull him into bed on top of you.

Scott lets out a shocked grunt that quickly turns into a moan when you pull his hand to your bare breast and arch under him impatiently, pulling at the collar of his jacket to get him to lie on top of you.

“ _Oh_ , Allison,” he gasps when his chest hits yours and even through the layers it sends a shock of lust through you that causes you to spread your legs so he can lie between them and tilt your head up to kiss him.

Scott's breath tastes like Mountain Dew and his lips are a lot softer than Isaac's, which surprises you, probably because you've never really kissed anyone but Isaac. His jacket is scratchy on your skin and you want to take it off-well, you want to take all his clothes off, flip him over onto his back, and ride him until he's whimpering your name- but by his eager and clumsy kisses, you're 95% sure he's never done this before and restrain yourself.

You break away from his mouth after a minute and move to kiss his jawline and neck- his skin feels so perfect under your mouth- and his breath hitches, fingers tightening automatically on your breast. Your eyes flutter shut in pleasure and you arch up against him, and he moans, head dropping down to the mattress and thrusts in between your legs automatically, the hard line of his dick against your inner thigh.

Scott freezes. “Oh, shit, sorry,” he says quickly, and lifts himself off you.

“Really?” you say, quirking an eyebrow up at him.

“Uh...I mean, I don't want to presume,” he says carefully, but his eyes are dark with lust and his cheeks are flushed. He's adorable and your hands almost shake with excitement as you pull him down to kiss you again. His tongue slides against yours smoothly and you moan into his mouth when his hands find their way back to your boobs. There's a muttered curse from the other side of the room and Scott pulls back, fingers rubbing small circles over your nipples that make you want to stick his hand down under the sheets and get his fingers in you now . He looks back over at Isaac and you follow his gaze to see your boyfriend staring at the two of you with wide eyes, cheeks flushed and erection tenting his boxers. It's hot, but it also causes a twinge of worry in your chest, that it might make Scott uncomfortable and you wonder if you should pull him back down to distract him so Isaac can get himself together.

“Isaac,” Scott says, voice very tight. “Come over here.”

Or not.

Isaac half-stumbles over to the bed and sits down at your side. He ducks down to kiss Scott, but seems to second guess himself halfway to his mouth and pauses, looking at Scott hesitantly. Scott puts his hand on the back of Isaac's neck and pulls him the rest of the way down and then they're kissing, with tongue, _right_ in front of you and just... _guh_. They look so good together, Scott's hand dark against Isaac's cheek, eyes squeezed shut, and you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Isaac lets out an impatient growl against Scott's mouth and tugs at his jacket, pushing it down his shoulders clumsily.

Scott breaks the kiss and Isaac goes for his neck immediately, and you watch Scott's jaw go slack and his eyelashes flutter with pleasure.

“Ngh, _Isaac_ ,” he gasps as Isaac sucks at his neck and struggles out of his jacket. Isaac pretty much throws it over his shoulder and then grabs Scott by the waist and hauls him off you and onto his back next to you, rolling over you to straddle him and run his hands down his chest. You are so glad the motel had a king-size room available. Scott groans, throwing his head back, and you roll onto your stomach next to him and nuzzle you face into his neck, the collar of his thin green t-shirt brushing your chin. He manages to get an arm around you, rubbing his hand up and down your bare back and you shiver in pleasure at the feel of his hand on you. He turns his head to kiss you and you cup his face with both hand and squeeze your eyes shut, thinking _God, yes, please_.

Scott's body gives a jolt just as you're coaxing your tongue past his lips and you open you eyes and look down to see Isaac's hand under his shirt, rubbing his abdomen. You give Isaac a severe look that you hope clearly communicates that he needs to chill. He can be like that with you, but Scott's most likely a virgin, he can't just rip off his clothes.

Isaac blinks at you in confusion and then his eyes slide over to Scott. “Can I take this off?” he asks hopefully.

“Yup,” Scott says and struggles to pull his green t-shirt over his head, baring smooth brown skin and _really_ great abs. Like, woah.

Isaac seems to be of the same opinion by the way he blatantly stares down at Scott's chest. You press your mouth to Scott's neck and kiss it to at least pretend you're not staring, but Isaac doesn't even bother and you're half-expecting him to start drooling at any second.

Scott's neck warms under your lips as Isaac continues to stare, and then reaches forward to put his hand over Scott's left pec.

“Uh, don't actually have boobs, dude,” Scott says with a nervous laugh and you curl closer into his side and put your hand on his stomach, fingers curiously tracing his abs and tattoo. You never really thought of him as the kind of guy to get a tattoo, especially underage, and you were kind of surprised when you first noticed it at the beginning of the school year, but it's grown on you. The simple, but bold design suits him.

Isaac smiles happily. “I know,” he says simply and then leans down to suck Scott's left nipple into his mouth.

Scott makes a shocked high-pitched noise and grabs onto Isaac's shoulder, arching up into him further.

Later, you and Scott lie on your sides facing each other, Isaac pressed against Scott's back, chin tucked over his shoulder and arm around his waist. Scott plays with a couple strands of your hair absentmindedly, and you close your eyes in contentment, the TV still droning on in the background.

“Umm,” he says and you open your eyes to see his slightly anxious expression. “We should probably talk about this, right?”

Your eyes go to Isaac's immediately, who looks uncomfortably at you over Scott's shoulder. You don't really want to talk about it either-can't this just be a thing that you do, that you don't talk about?-but you know you have to for Scott's sake.

“Okay,” you say, shifting a little next to him to get a better angle to see his face. “What do you want to talk about?”

Scott blinks in confusion at you, propping his head up on his arm. “I mean, like, what...is this? Is this just a one time thing or...? I mean, I know you guys are dating, so...”

“Do you want it to be?” you ask carefully and inwardly wince at the betrayed look Isaac gives you over Scott's shoulder.

“No,” Scott says honestly and you can't stop the wide grin that splits your face at this admission. You lean up to kiss him and curl in closer to his chest, relishing the feel of his hand on your waist.

“What...what about you?” Scott says when you part, looking at you from under his eyelashes.

“What?” you reply, confused, because you are _naked in bed with him_.

“It's kind of obvious,” Isaac says before you can, kissing Scott's ear and nuzzling his hair.

Scott shifts over onto his back to look at him and smiles earnestly at the both of you. “So this is like...a thing.”

“Uh huh,” Isaac says and drops his head down to nuzzle at Scott's neck in a way that Scott does not yet realize means he wants to have sex. You narrow your eyes at him, but he doesn't notice.

“I've, um, never...you know,” Scott says, cheeks flushing, reaching up to touch Isaac's hair, breath hitching at his ministrations.

“It's okay,” you say quickly as Isaac grins lasciviously and opens his mouth to say something inappropriate. You prop yourself up on your arm, the sheets slipping down to uncover your boobs, and Scott looks down at them automatically before looking back up at you quickly. You bite back your smirk and lean down to kiss him chastely, even though you'd really rather be on his dick right now. “We can just make-out.”

Isaac makes a pathetic whining noise and you roll your eyes at him in exasperation. “Behave,” you tell him sternly, only half-joking.

Scott smiles at Isaac in amusement and wraps his arm around his shoulders, kissing the side of his face very gently. It makes something in you tremble at his obvious care and it seems to have a similar effect on Isaac, who inhales sharply and buries his face in Scott's neck to hide his expression.

“Best birthday ever,” he says into Scott's neck, reaching over Scott to grab your ass under the sheets.

Scott's eyes go wide and he cranes his neck to look down at him. “It's your birthday?! Why didn't you say anything?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, we have Scallisaac! Finally, because I've been dying to write more Scott! Please comment!


	20. Cause I've got nothing left to lose

You're barely on time for school on Friday and you hurry across the empty parking lot to make it to English before the second bell rings. Isaac is lounging against the wall next to the double doors waiting for you and you flash him a grin as he rolls his eyes at you.

“Cutting it a bit close,” he says as he pulls open the door. “Scott was asking about you.”

“Oh, really,” you say, trying to sound smug, but you feel your cheeks flush with pleasure at the thought.

“Yeah,” he says simply, but doesn't elaborate any further, just smirks at you lewdly, which causes your imagination to go all _sorts_ of places.

“So what did you two do last night?” you ask him casually, but know he can hear your heart rate increase as you power walk down the hallway of lockers to your English classroom.

Isaac shrugs. “He went to bed. I took a shower.”

You groan. “You didn't.” Isaac grins wolfishly, but doesn't turn to look at you. “Isaac, _gross_ , and you're going to scare him off if you keep-”

“Oh, believe me, he wasn't scared off,” Isaac says with a smirk.

You raise your eyebrows. “Whoa, okay, what exactly-”

“-do you think you're doing?” Stiles says, stepping around the corner with a furious look on his face, arms crossed over his plaid shirt. “Yeah, that's what I want to know.”

“What?” you say, taken aback by his sudden appearance and hostility.

“What the hell do you think you're doing is what I want to know,” Stiles say angrily, face white with rage.

“Uh, going to English...” Isaac says, bemused. “Which is going to start in, like, five seconds, so-”

“You know what I'm talking about,” Stiles bites out, jaw clenched tightly. “What do you think you're doing with Scott? Is this some kind of _game_ to you? Because if it is, I swear to God, I'll run you two over with my Jeep if you do _anythi_ \- ”

“No, it's not...” you say uncomfortably, because _really_? Scott had to tell Stiles _already_? “It's not like that.”

“Yeah? What is it like then?” Stiles shoots back.

The bell rings and you wince, but Stiles is implacable.

“Uh, how about none of your business?” Isaac scoffs, stepping forward. “Now move before we get marked as tardy.”

“Not so fast, wolfboy,” Stiles snarls and shoves Isaac back one-handed. “You know what I'm going to do, I'm going to break off an extra large branch of mountain ash, wrap it in wolfsbane, roll it in mistletoe and shove it up your freakin-”

“Yeah, you think you can take me?” Isaac says with a growl and you grab his arm before he can reach out to shove Stiles back.

“Enough,” you say coolly. “We are not going to hurt Scott.”

“Yeah, how am I supposed to believe you?” Stiles says, glaring at the two of you. “Both of you do not exactly have the greatest track record with not hurting people, if we're being honest here.”

“Wow, are you his keeper or something?” Isaac sneers, pulling against your grip in annoyance.

“No, I'm his best friend and I don't trust either of you,” Stiles says, point-blank.

That hurts, more than you expect. It's not like you're really friends with Stiles, but you didn't know he _hated_ you. And he is Scott's best friend. How is Scott going to feel about that?

“This is pathetic,” Isaac says cruelly. “What kind of co-dependant freak are you?” he continues, sort of, well, no, _extremely_ hypocritically.

“Scott can make his own decisions,” you say before Stiles can retort and tug Isaac past Stiles down the hall to your English classroom and hope whatever substitute it is today isn't in a bad mood.

“Hey, I'm not done yet!” Stiles yells after you. “I hadn't even gotten to the “You break his heart, I break your knees” part!”

“Pft, you can try,” Isaac says, turning around to no doubt give Stiles a sarcastic smirk.

“Enough,” you mutter and tug him away harder.

God, it's like you're the only one with any sense here.

 

* * *

 

Stiles and Isaac are pissed off at each other for the rest of the day, but thankfully keep their mouths shut in front of Scott. Lunch is a confusing mess of trying not to blush at the way Scott smiles at you, avoiding Lydia's confused looks, and trying to pretend that Erica and Boyd aren't sitting with you again . You don't know why Scott is so determined to be friends with them. Like, okay, this year has probably been pretty traumatizing for them, with the whole being locked in a bank vault for weeks on end, but in your opinion there's too much bad blood between you to bother trying to be friends. But you guess Scott is the glue of your whole group anyway; most of you wouldn't talk to each other without him. Erica and Boyd seem cautiously optimistic, warming up to Scott in a way that is uncomfortably familiar.

It's...whatever. You're not happy about it, but you don't have to be angry about it. You have better things in your life to focus on.

“Allison?” Scott says in surprise when you clamber up his roof after school, sticking his head out his window to stare at you. “What are you doing here? I thought you were coming over at 6:30.”

“Isaac will be home at 6:30,” you say, grinning at him as you slip inside his room. “I am coming over early.”

“Okayyy,” Scott says, stepping back in embarrassment, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “You know my mom's not home, you could have knocked. What do you want to do?”

You raise any eyebrow at him and step forward to kiss him, guiding his hands to your waist. Scott makes a soft noise into the kiss and then smiles against your mouth, fingers tightening on the fabric of your sweatshirt.

“Okay, I guess that was a stupid question,” he says, pulling back shyly. His eyes are so soft and warm, you want to bury yourself in him and never come out.

“Such a gentleman,” you say teasingly and press a quick kiss to his jaw.

Scott beams like that really is a compliment and you feel heat rush into your face, heart pounding with excitement. You've felt this way before, with Isaac, but you've never felt so reckless. You always had to be careful with him.

You have to be careful with Scott too, of course. He hasn't done this before. Anything before. But he goes easily when you back him up to his bed and pulls you on top of him eagerly, hands running down your back as he kisses you.

You pull off your sweatshirt after a minute, enjoying the way his eyes zero in on the tops of your boobs over your white cami. He groans when you lean down to press them against his chest and slides his hands up your sides so that his fingertips brush the skin just above your arm holes, but doesn't venture any further even though you ache for him.

“Take it off,” you tell him, pulling back and brushing your hair out of the way so it doesn't fall onto his face.

“You okay with that?” Scott asks, even as his hands tighten on your sides and pupils dilate.

“Are _you_ okay with it?” you ask with a grin, skin buzzing with the desire to be touched.

“You're asking me if I'm okay with taking off your clothes?” Scott grins back and you press your forehead to his, noses brushing together.

“Another stupid question,” you murmur and Scott laughs, at least until you raise you arms as he pulls your cami over your head. You unclasp you bra without thinking and toss it behind you, sitting up to smirk down at the dumbfounded look on his face. “Your turn,” you say, trying to sound smug, but he can probably tell how much your hands are shaking out of excitement. You roll him over and help him tug his t-shirt over his head and then pull him on top of you by the front of his pants and run your hands down his bare chest greedily. Seriously, though, he has _great_ abs. His mouth feels great on your neck, and his hands feel even better on your boobs, and you lean back and clutch his shoulders, trying very hard not to grind your hips up against his, even though you're pretty sure he's hard. You'd love to get him in you, or at least give him a handjob, but you feel weird about doing it while Isaac's not here, so you just make-out and grope each other until Scott pulls away, red-faced, and asks if you can take a break.

“Sure,” you say casually and pretend not to notice him quickly pulling his comforter up to his waist. You snuggle close to him, pressing your foreheads together, eyelids fluttering as his hand strokes your waist gently. Your brain-to-mouth filter is not exactly up to speed, which is probably why what you say next is: “So did Isaac jerk off in your shower last night?”

Scott's slightly strained expression disappears and his mouth drops open in shock. “Wh-What?”

“I mean, if he made you uncomfortable you can tell me and I'll, you know, take care of it,” you say quickly, cheeks burning because _what is wrong with you_?

“Um, no,” Scott says, equally as embarrassed. “No, that's okay. It was...I mean, I didn't...mind, I guess?” He sounds very confused.

Did you like it? you think, but wisely decide to keep your mouth shut.

“Sorry,” you mutter, face-planting yourself into his sheets so you don't have to look at his bewildered expression anymore. “I know I'm being weird.”

“It's okay,” Scott reassures you immediately, hand coming up to smooth down the back of your right arm. “This entire thing is weird, but...good...right?”

You peak up at him hesitantly and smile. “Yeah,” you say happily and snuggle close to him, twining your legs with his under the covers.

You're quiet for a few seconds and worry about it being awkward. You never really talk much with Isaac, but the silence seems kind of weird with Scott.

“Hey, so, um, what's going on with Erica and Boyd?” you ask, for lack of a better conversation topic. “I mean, is there a reason they've been...or, are they going to be hanging out with us now or whatever?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Scott says, propping his head up on his arm to better look at you. “I dunno, I guess I feel bad for them. They seem pretty isolated, you know. I've been trying to talk to Derek too, but he's being, I dunno, difficult.”

“Okay,” you say, and avoid making a snarky comment about Derek's stellar personality. “Is it...do you think it's an alpha thing?”

“What?” Scott frowns. “No, I, it's not...” But he trails off, eyes widening in horror. “I don't...I don't think it is,” he says and looks extremely anxious all of the sudden.

Shit.

“No, I mean, not in a bad way, I meant like, you know, taking care of everyone,” you say, inwardly kicking yourself for not remembering how much Scott hates having werewolf things happen to him without his control. “'Cause you're good at that.”

Scott's expression wavers and he flops onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. You immediately go to him and rest your head on his shoulder, throwing an arm over his bare chest. “Sorry,” you murmur guiltily.

“It's just like...one of those things where you think you're over it,” Scott says quietly, eyes slipping shut. His eyelashes are very dark and thick against his cheeks, so different than Isaac's. “...where you forget about it for a bit and then...”

“You get reminded,” you finish. You know how that feels. It's pretty much a description of the last two years of your life. You don't say that aloud, though, because you think it would be pretty insulting to compare him being turned into a werewolf with finding out about your parents' secret livelihood. It sucks, sure, but it's not the same thing. “Sorry.”

“It's okay,” he says with a shrug, and gives you a sad smile. “Where do your parents think you are right now, anyway?” he adds, obviously trying to change the subject.

“At the gym with Lydia.”

“Do you go to the gym with Lydia?” he asks, looking dubious.

You give him a flat look. “Do I look like I'd subject myself to that?”

“Allison!” he says reprovingly, but struggles to suppress a laugh.

You stifle your laugh in his shoulder, enjoying the way his bare skin feels against your face. “Nah, I run in the forest preserve usually, I just don't tell them that because they'd probably freak. Or, well, I used to, but I've gotten lazy now that it's colder out.”

“You ever think about doing track?” he asks, hesitantly bringing his hand up to stroke your hair.

“I'm not exactly a team player,” you say wryly. “And anyway, I'm mainly doing it to lose weight.”

He gives you an odd look. “You're trying to lose weight?”

“Yeah, I'm all flabby,” you say, trying to sound as matter-of-fact as possible, because he's seen you half-naked, it's not like he doesn't _know_. You've managed to get down to 150 and stay that way, but you were 135 your freshman year of high school and you'd really like to get back to that.

“I don't,” he says, looking kind of worried. “I think you look grea- I mean, why do you want to lose weight?”

You shrug uncomfortably and look down at his shoulder. “I used to be in better shape, but when I, um, found out about my parents I got, like, super depressed and stopped exercising and ate a ton of junk food.”

You have no idea why you're telling him this. You've never even told Isaac this. Or Lydia, though you're pretty sure they both know anyway. It's not exactly something you should spill so early in your...relationship?, but Scott's always made you feel like you can tell him stuff and he won't judge you for it.

“I'm sorry,” he says gently, rubbing your back. “How did...how did you find out?”

“When I was fifteen I saw them murder a girl from my History class in our backyard,” you mumble against his skin and feel him stiffen under you. “That was in Colorado. Then we were in San Francisco for a year and then we moved here.”

“Allison, I'm so sorry,” he says again and shifts to embrace you.

You clutch him back and blink rapidly against the tears suddenly accumulating in your eyes. “They're pretty terrible,” you say, trying for an uncaring laugh, but your voice shakes pathetically.

Scott shifts back and cups your face, leaning in to kiss your cheek gently. It's a little odd how easily this all comes to him. You and Isaac try to be gentle and loving, but it always seems awkward and unnatural. Despite his inexperience, Scott's much better at this than you, you think and suppress a snort of inappropriate laughter.

“I mean, they were always sort of terrible, but the werewolf-murdering really did come out of nowhere,” you say, trying and failing to make a joke.

“Yeah,” Scott says simply, and a shadow passes across his face for a second before it disappears in a blink of an eye.

Your chest goes cold. “What happened?” you ask seriously, more harshly than you intended.

“I-nothing,” Scott says, frowning innocently.

He's lying, you know. The knowledge of this, that he's lying to you, that your parents have done something so horrible that he's trying to keep it from you, paralyzes you. You look at him blankly, a low-pitched buzzing noise filling your mind.

“I-he, your dad, sort of shot me in the arm with a crossbow my first full moon,” he admits uncomfortably after a moment, brow furrowed in worry. “It was dark, though, so he didn't know who I was. And I got better, healed right away. It wasn't that big of a deal.”

“Oh,” you say and the room seems brighter than it should be, the sun having gone down hours ago. “I...”

Your father tried to kill him. It's not like you didn't...you knew they, you _saw_ them murder Emily Doroshenko. This shouldn't be so shocking.

What is _wrong_ with them? Why are they like this, why...why do think, how can they _justify_ themselves? They kill people, shoot arrow at them without even _knowing who they are_. How could they ever think that was okay? How can they be your parents, the people who raised you, who bought you a $300 camera when you were fourteen and into photography, who humored your Powerpuff Girl obsession when you were eight, and let you throw the fish back into the river during your camping trip in Montana even though they thought it was-

The people who you now understand groomed you since birth to fight, to be ruthless and unsympathetic. Who insisted on archery and gymnastics and self-defense classes, gave you lectures about safety and the horrible consequences of anything less than vigilance far too young.

This is the unvarnished truth about your parents, a truth that has tormented you for more than two years now. They are not good people. They are murderers, irrational extremists, and worst of all, your entire childhood was a carefully constructed trap to make you like them. No, that's not the worst part. The worst part is how well it worked.

“I'm sorry,” you tell Scott earnestly, as if on their behalf. You take a shaky breath and force yourself to look him in the eye unwaveringly. You can't imagine how terrified he must have been, grown men with weapons _chasing him_ in the night.

“Hey, hey, Allison, don't, it wasn't that bad,” Scott says worriedly, frowning at your tremulous expression and leaning over to press his forehead against yours. You can't really look at him without crossing your eyes and it gives you the perfect excuse to close your eyes. “I healed really fast and then I just ran away. It's okay, I swear.”

“Okay,” you whisper back, even though it's not. It'll never be okay that your father tried to murder an innocent sixteen year old boy.

It's selfish, you know, but you wrap your arms around him and press your face into his shoulder. He rubs your back soothingly, like he's taken a freaking class in comforting hysterical girls, and you think that wanting to be with you is probably the stupidest thing he's ever done.

“Why...I always wondered,” you say and clear your throat a little, pulling back a little to look at him. “Why did you ask me out last year? You didn't, I mean, you didn't know anything about me, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Scott says, and looks a little embarrassed. “I...oh, God, it was sort of a misunderstanding? Like, you were kind of staring at me a lot and I thought, well, I kind of got the wrong impression.”

“Oh,” you say and try very hard not to smile.

“And, I mean, I thought you were pretty, so...” he says and smiles at you sheepishly.

You feel your face heat up and look down at his collarbones automatically. You've never been very good at accepting compliments. You always expect there to be some sort of ulterior motive.

“Oh,” Scott says before you can figure out what to say, perking up. “Isaac's back.”

Really? Is it 6:30 already?

You strain your ears and hear the front door open downstairs. Your face splits into a mischievous grin and without warning you roll over on top of Scott and kiss him fiercely.

Scott makes a shocked “Mmf!” noise against your mouth, which quickly turns into a groan when you slide your hands down his bare chest. Not that you're obsessed with his abs or anything. Much.

He wraps his arms around you and kisses you back, rolling you over onto your sides after a minute, smiling into your mouth.

“ _Hey_ ,” Isaac says from the door, sounding aggrieved.

You turn to look at his irritated expression and smirk, rolling over onto your back to expose your boobs. “You just going to stand there?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Isaac scoffs and tries to pretend that he's mad, but gives up after a few second and climbs on top of you to kiss you, groping your boobs. He reaches for Scott after a minute and your mouth goes dry as you watch Scott melt into him and tremble under his wandering hands.

“Woah, ok-okay,” Scott pants when Isaac rolls him over and starts kissing down his chest, thumbing over his nipples.

“Mmm?” Isaac inquires, licking a languid line down Scott's sternum and smirking like a complete douchebag.

“Yeah, he's pretty much always this horny,” you whisper into his ear and then turn to give Isaac a pointed look, because, really, he needs to be less...him right now.

“Can I jerk you off?” Isaac asks breathily, rubbing his hand over Scott's abdomen, above the tent in his jeans.

“Isaac!” you hiss, giving him an incredulous look, because he can't just-

“Yes,” Scott groans, clutching Isaac's left shoulder and giving a full body jerk. “That would...that would be really good.”

Isaac grins triumphantly and reaches down to undo his belt.

As much as you'd like to watch, Isaac is doing enough staring for the two of you, so you cup Scott's face in your hands and kiss him while he gasps under Isaac's ministrations.

“That good?” Isaac asks after a minute, voice very dry.

“Yeah, just, a little slower, like, _oh God_ ,” Scott moans, jumping an octave and arching his back up into Isaac's touch, like he's being pulled into the air by an invisible string. He grabs you around the waist and grips you hard, burying his face against your shoulder, features scrunched up in pleasure, eyelashes thick and dark against his cheeks. “Okay, okay, okay, Alliso-Isaac, I'm going, I'm gonna-”

“ _Yeah_ , you are,” Isaac says, but it comes out more reverent than licentious and seconds later Scott whimpers and jerks through his orgasm, making small noises that are so hot they're practically burned into your brain.

“Shit,” Scott says shakily, collapsing back onto his bed, chest still rising and falling rapidly.

“Good?” Isaac says, trying to sound arrogant, but the way he climbs up the bed to sidle up to him needily reveals his true feelings.

“Mmhm,” Scott says tiredly, bringing a hand up clumsily to stroke his hair.

“See,” Isaac tells you with badly concealed glee, grabbing a bunch of tissues off of Scott's bedside table. “It's good. Obviously. I've had a lot of practice with my right hand.”

You roll your eyes, but Scott snorts with laughter and reaches over to touch Isaac's chest through his shirt dazedly.

You squirm uncomfortably and try not to stare at Scott's dick, which is all uncircumcised ( _weird_ ) and lying against his thigh in plain view. You wonder if it would feel different inside you than Isaac's.

“Need a hand?” Isaac smirks over at you, eyes flitting up and down as he looks over at you.

“I dunno,” you say, affecting nonchalance. “They do say if you want something done right, do it yourself.”

Isaac grins wolfishly and rolls over Scott to plant his face in your boobs, squeezing them and generally having way too much fun mouthing at them. You arch back against Scott's pillow and squirm a bit under his hips because seriously, you _ache_. You turn idly to look at Scott and see him watching you in awe, his eyes going as wide as dinner plate when Isaac moves down your body and unbuttons your pants.

Isaac is always sort of obnoxious when he goes down on you, but he really goes to town this time, flinging your soaked underwear in the direction of Scott's desk and making gross squelching noises against you while he sticks his tongue inside you and sucks at you with a truly obscene amount of enthusiasm. Not that you're really complaining, especially once his fingers get in you. You scrabble for the headboard for something to hold onto, but Scott doesn't have a headboard, so you end up grabbing for his window ledge instead and holding on tightly, gritting your teeth against the moans building up in the back of your throat. The room still seems very quiet, your muffled noises filling it up, and you gasp with Isaac pushes your legs back, tilting your hips up so that you're practically folded in half. You realize why after a second, looking down at Isaac's devious expression between your spread legs. He's _showing off_. For Scott.

It send more heat pulsing through you and suddenly you're way closer than you thought. You look back at Scott and strangely enough it's the sight of his mouth half open as he stares at the two of you that makes you come, a sharp cry escaping your lips as you ride it out.

“Hah, easy,” Isaac snickers, wiping his mouth and flopping over onto his back between you and Scott.

You let out a disgruntled groan and roll onto your side and press your face into Scott's sheets. They smell like his deodorant.

“You alive?” Isaac continues smugly, shaking your shoulder a bit, which only causes your hair to fall further over your face. “You gonna help me out or what? I mean, I know I'm good, but-”

“You talk a lot, don't you,” Scott murmurs lazily.

Isaac doesn't reply and after a second you open your eyes and look up to see Scott pressed up against Isaac's back, his hand under his shirt and mouth attached to the side of his neck. Isaac is bright red and sort of dazed, and he shudders when Scott moves his hand up over his pecs.

You smirk and prop up your head on your arm for a better look, completely content to watch Scott render Isaac inarticulate with just a couple touches to his mouth and chest.

Scott nuzzles Isaac's neck up a bit to have more room to suck at his jugular and Isaac makes a soft broken sound, tilting his head back further and then sliding onto his back and pulling Scott on top of him desperately.

Scott smiles down at him, kissing his mouth gently. For someone who's never done this before, he has a lot of confidence, running his hands down Isaac's chest and unbuckling his belt.

Dry-mouthed, you watch Scott jack him off with steady hands, kissing his gasping mouth. You scootch closer to press yourself against Isaac's side and Scott's eyes move from Isaac to you. They seem much darker than usual. He smiles at you and it makes your heart flip ridiculously, like he isn't jacking off your boyfriend right this second.

“Oh, shit,” Isaac gasps, expression strained. “Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, Scott, I'm, just- _ah_!”

“Who's easy now?” you whisper as he shakes through the aftershocks.

Isaac grumbles and rolls over into Scott's chest, shamelessly clinging to him. You grin and latch onto his back, reaching over to touch Scott's side.

“So...that happened...” Scott says, trying and failing to hide his beaming smile.

“Yeah,” you say, suddenly bashful and press your cheek to Isaac's (kind sweaty) shoulder.

“That happens a lot,” Isaac says, not surfacing from Scott's chest. You roll your eyes.

“Yeah?” Scott says, eyes shining with happiness. It's utterly infectious and you grin back at him, and then just give up and roll over Isaac (who squawks indignantly) and kiss him furiously.

 

* * *

 

You have to leave around 7:30 to get back home for dinner, but when you open Scott's front door there's a tall Mexican man right outside the door, fist outstretched to knock.

“Uh, hi,” you say, looking up and down his official-looking suit with a twinge of worry.

He immediately scowls at you. “Don't tell me _you_ live here too,” he says with inexplicable hostility.

“No...?” you say, bewildered. “Excuse me, do you need something?”

“Who are you?” the man counters disapprovingly, eyes flitting over your mussed hair. “Where's Scott?”

“Who are _you_?” you reply, instantly suspicious of his motives. What does he want with Scott? Scott, who is upstairs sleeping with Isaac after the two of you, well, melted his brain with orgasms.

“I'm his father,” the man replies and whoa, you do see the resemblance now.

“I thought you lived in Sacramento,” you say, as that's literally the only thing you know about Scott's father, other than that he and Scott's mother are divorced and he's never around.

Scott's father looks aggrieved, but before he can say anything else there's the sound of footsteps on the stairs behind you.

“What are you doing here?” Scott demands harshly, skipping the last two steps and coming up to stand behind you, arms crossed over his hoodie. His hair looks in good order, but there's a line from his sheets pressed into his cheek. “ _Other_ than interrogating my friends?”

“I want to speak to you.” Scott's father says, face set in a uncomfortably familiar manner.

“No,” Scott says bitingly, and you've never seen him so mad at someone who wasn't trying to kill him. “So you can go now.”

“Look, Scott,” his dad says beseechingly and then seems to remember you're there. “Can we speak in private?”

Scott clenches his jaw and looks to you, and you try to give him a look that says you're totally willing to stay and keep him from having to deal with his father alone, but his shoulders sag after a moment.

“You have to get home, right?” he says and gives you a reassuring look when you hesitate.

“Yeah...” you say uncertainly, glancing between Scott and his father. “I'll see you at school.”

You walk out the door around Scott's father and resist the urge to look back at them.

“Who was _she_?” you hear Scott's father demand when you're halfway down the lawn.

“Absolutely none of your business,” Scott retorts.

They're still arguing on the porch when you drive away.

You text Isaac later that night and find out that Scott's dad has been in town about a week, ostensibly to reconnect with Scott after he heard Melissa had been kidnapped. Except then they found out he's really here to gather evidence that Stiles's dad is an incompetent Sheriff and possibly have him impeached. According to Isaac, Scott was already angry at his dad for ditching him after the divorce and this new piece of information, coupled with his blatant disapproval of Isaac living with Scott and his mother, makes any kind of “reconnecting” unlikely to occur.

What an asshole, you think, as you zone out during your parents' dinner conversation about the Libyan civil war. Did he really think that was going to ingratiate Scott to him in any way?

Though it does kind of explain why Stiles was being such a dick lately.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, God, I am so sorry,” Scott says over burgers the next night, cringing. “I didn't know he was going to do that.”

“I mean, it's not like I care, but he's been glaring at us for the past two days, so you might want to tell him to back off,” Isaac says, taking an obnoxious slurp of his milkshake from the other side of the table.

“Yeah, he...uh...didn't take it well,” Scott mumbles in embarrassment, shifting next to you in his seat in the booth uncomfortably. “I swear I didn't think he'd say anything to you, I'm really sorry.”

“It's okay,” you say with a shrug, because you really could care less what Stiles thinks of your relationship with Scott. Stiles is just going to have to get over it. You feel bad for Scott, though, having to deal with that. You're already worried enough about what Lydia's going to say and she's a lot more understanding than Stiles.

“So...” Isaac says, looking Scott up and down interestedly, trying and utterly failing to affect a nonchalant expression. “Wanna get out of here?”

“I haven't finished my burger ye-” Scott starts and then raises his eyebrows at Isaac's pointed look. “Oh,” he says, lip twitching up a bit in a satisfied smirk and _wow_ , that really does it for you. “I guess I could take it to-go?”

“Waiter!” Isaac calls automatically, and you smirk as well, leaning up against Scott's side and not-so subtly putting your hand on his thigh, causing his leg to jump.

You take his virginity that night, on top of the ratty bedspread of your usual motel, while Isaac watches in awe and murmurs dirty things into Scott's ear every once and a while. Scott moans your name in wonder and rocks into you awkwardly, coming with a low grunt deep in his throat and collapsing into your shoulder, but it's still one of the most satisfying experiences of your life, watching him slowly fall apart. Isaac gets you off with his fingers, pressed against your back while his dick slides between the space between your thighs, rubbing against you where you're still slick and sensitive from Scott. He groans when you gasp out your orgasm into the pillow, hiding your face because it's still a little embarrassing and Scott is just _watching_ you, and picks up the pace, cupping your breast and rolling your nipple between his fingers.

“Hey, um, you probably shouldn't...you know...like that,” Scott says, sounding a bit hoarse.

“What?” Isaac says, his breath gusting your ear, sounding strained as continues to move against you.

“I mean, not without a condom,” Scott explains awkwardly, cheeks very red and pupil blown out. “It's not very likely, but technically she could still get pregnant.”

“What?!” you say, looking up at him in shock.

“But...I'm not even,” Isaac says, stopping short. “Seriously?”

“Uh, yeah, penetration isn't actually required for...” Scott starts, then seems to realize he sounds like a textbook and trails off uncomfortably.

Isaac groans in frustration and rolls onto his back to grab his dick. You let out a huff of laughter at his impatience and follow him, batting his right hand off his dick and pinning it above his head. You stroke him quickly, tightening your hand on his wrist until his skin turns even whiter, and watch him come with a silent O-face with deep satisfaction.

“How are you doing?” you say, turning back to Scott and cuddling up to his bare chest.

“Good,” he says with a smile, kissing you on the mouth gently. “Really, _really_ good.”

Isaac makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat and presses up against you again, wrapping an arm around you needily.

Are you really? you wonder even as you lean back into Isaac's embrace. Losing your virginity to two people in a musty motel?

He doesn't seem to regret it though, by the way he smiles at you and lays his head on your shoulder, reaching across you to touch Isaac's hair. Isaac sighs softly against the back of your neck and suddenly you wonder what the girl who saw her parents murder her classmate two years ago would think of you now, curled up naked between two werewolves. You let out a snort of amusement at the thought, but it's short-lived once your thoughts to shift to what your parents would think.

“Allison?” Scott murmurs, raising his head a bit to look at you, brow furrowed in concern.

“M'okay,” you reassure him and run your fingers absentmindedly up his spine. He shouldn't be taking care of you-you should be taking care of _him_ \- but you can't resist the way he reaches up to touch your cheek and murmurs that everything is going to be alright.

It's a little weird how well this whole thing works, you think as you slip out of the bed and pull your clothes on at around nine. You know you're a pretty possessive person, but you don't feel any jealously at their interest in each other. Well, you're jealous that they live together and spend every waking minute with each other, but that's different. Isaac doesn't seem to care either- is unabashedly thrilled at having a new person to sleep on top of like he is now, face buried in Scott's neck. Scott seems pleased at the attention and not at all bothered at the 170 lb werewolf smothering him and there's a warm glow in the pit of your stomach at the memory all the way home, keeping you warm in the cold October air.

It vanishes the second you enter your house.

“I understand you want to spend time with your friends, but your father and I want you to be home for dinner at least four nights a week,” your mother says before you can escape upstairs. “Now come and talk to me.”

You come unwillingly into the the living room and sit stiffly in the armchair across from her, keeping your expression blank and uninterested.

“What did you and Lydia do?” she asks, in the same impersonal tone she uses when she asks about your grades.

“We just went to her house and watched a movie,” you say with a shrug. “Now, I actually have homework I need to do, so-”

“In a minute,” your mother says, tone allowing no room for argument. She uncrosses her legs and smooths down her pencil skirt, looking at you with an interest that makes you go cold. “What about those two boys you're friends with? Scott and the other one with the strange name?”

“Stiles,” you say automatically. “No, they had lacrosse practice. We don't hang out with them much anyway. Stiles has a huge crush on Lydia, but she doesn't like him, so it's awkward.”

“I see,” your mother says, seeming amused at the trivial problems of high-schoolers. “What about you? Is there anyone you like?”

You stare. “What?” you say, bewildered at this sudden line of questioning. “No.”

“What about Scott?” your mother asks, stubbornly refusing to drop this subject. “Your father said he's captain of the lacrosse team. A ridiculous sport if you ask me, but it seems to be quite popular here.”

“Co-captain,” you say faintly, horrified at the idea that your parents have been _doing research_ on your friends.

Your mother gives you an unimpressed look. “Don't look so uncomfortable. It's perfectly normal for girls your age to want a boyfriend. As long as it's an appropriate relationship, your father and I will support you. Well, it might take your father a while to come around, but he'll get there eventually.”

She's, very badly, trying to make a joke, but you don't laugh, feeling sick to your stomach at the realization that your parents pay a lot more attention to your life than you thought.

“I don't like Scott,” you say, more harshly than you intend.

“Why not?” your mother asks, frowning at your reaction. “By all accounts he seems like a perfectly nice boy.”

By all accounts. _God_.

“Do you _want_ me to go out with him?” you ask angrily, stunned by her hypocrisy. “He's Mexican, you know.”

Your mother gives you a startled look. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You hate Mexicans,” you say unwisely, clenching your fists at your sides in anger. “You always complain about them.”

“About illegals, Allison,” your mother says, looking insulted. “He's not an illegal.” There's no doubt in her voice-she knows this for sure. “With a name like McCall, his family could have been here longer than both your father's and mine.”

“Whatever,” you say, disgusted at her arbitrary prejudices. Your parents hunt werewolves, sure, but they're also such _assholes_. “I'm not interested in dating.”

“Be that as it may, your attitude is not acceptable,” your mother says sternly, narrowing her eyes at you.

“Fine,” you say shortly. “Can I go now?”

You're still being incredibly rude, but your mother doesn't appear interested in berating you for your manners and just sighs and says. “Alright, go get your homework done.”

You take a shower instead and then curl up in your bed without bothering to blow-dry your hair, imagining you're back in Scott's bed, curled between your two boyfriends, Scott's arms around your waist, warm and comforting, Isaac's hair brushing your neck. It's not as good at the real thing, obviously, but it helps.

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” Scott says, smiling at you as he opens the door, dressed in a soft-looking navy sweatshirt and basketball shorts. He frowns when he looks over you and you feel a jolt of self-consciousness. Why didn't you put on mascara and something nicer than your old sweatshirt from the high school you went to in San Francisco? It's not like you don't have nice clothes. Lydia's bought you some over the part few months and you still have a ton of stuff from your mom's boutique. “Where's your books?”

“Uh...at home,” you say, and then realize that when he said “come over and study” he actually _meant_ come over and study.

“Well, I guess we can share,” Scott says and holds open the door for you.

You follow him up into his room dubiously, but can't hide your smile when you see Isaac lying on his stomach on Scot's bed, surrounded by books and papers. He gives you a baleful look.

“We were just going over the Physics quizzes from last month,” Scott explains, clearing off some books off a chair by his bed and then sitting down in his desk chair. “How have you been doing on those?”

“Uh...averaging a C+?” you say with a wince. Harris's replacement is a lot better teacher than he ever was, but her weekly quizzes are really killing you.

“What are you having trouble with particularly?” Scott asks, looking concerned.

The studying part? you think. You know your grades are important, but you haven't had much motivation to study for two years now. You managed to force yourself to study for finals last year and you're pretty sure you'll be able to do the same for midterms next week, but you don't have the stamina to do it every week for some ten question quiz.

“I just need to review more,” you and sit down on Scott's bed next to Isaac instead of the chair Scott cleared off for you. You look down at the chapter in the Physics textbook he's reading and try to convince yourself that it's probably a good thing starting now.

It's horrendously boring and you and Isaac tire quickly of reviewing old quizzes and worksheets, but Scott is relentless. He ends up spending most of the time explaining different concepts and formulas to you, which you feel bad about, even though he insists that it helps him remember too. You had no idea he was so into school, though you guess it shouldn't be a surprise considering he read every single book on your summer reading list.

“So you just follow the steps on the example problem on page 56,” Scott explains to Isaac, pointing at the corresponding page in the textbook, though Isaac is very clearly not paying attention, too busy staring at his crotch instead. “See, it's the same problem as on the quiz we had three weeks ago, just with different numbers.”

“Uh huh,” Isaac says glancing up at him, though his eyes linger on his biceps. He rolls over onto his back, accidentally-on purpose jostling Scott with his elbow where he sits on the end of the bed. “Are we done yet?”

Scott frowns, looking a little hurt at Isaac's lack of interest. “We still have two more quizzes to go over.”

“I think we need a break,” you say quickly, hopping over Isaac's legs, and wrap your arms around Scott's waist from behind, pressing your chest to his back.

“Uh, no, I think...I mean, I really need to finish this,” Scott says, but his sounds a little dazed, and when you nuzzle your nose into his neck he gives an unexpected jerk and actually _gasps_. You slide your hands under his sweatshirt to get him to do it again and _God_ , you need to be naked right now.

“Nope, we definitely need a break,” Isaac says, a sly grin creeping across his face, pretty much in sync with his hand creeping up Scott's thigh. “You worked really _hard_ today.”

You give him an incredulous look and Scott lets out a surprised snort of laughter. “Oh, my God, you did not just say that.”

“What?” Isaac protests, looking wounded.

“He did,” you say, rolling your eyes at him, because, really, wait to ruin the mood. You press a couple of kisses to Scott's neck and run your fingertips over his abs.

“Oh, come on,” Scott protests, leaning back into you further, exposing more of his neck. “I need to study.

“Later,” Isaac says, pushing up Scott's sweatshirt. You help him pull it and the t-shirt underneath over his head, and watch dry-mouthed as Isaac rolls off the bed to kneel between Scott's spread legs, attaching his neck to Scott's collarbone, hands dropping down to mess with the tie on his shorts.

“ _Oh_ ,” Scott gasps, trembling as Isaac sucks a nipple into his mouth. You run your hands up and down his sides soothingly and shift uncomfortably against his back. God, you're so wet it almost hurts. “Not fair.”

“C'mon,” you tell him, clinging to his back, and moan quietly when he turns his head back towards you to kiss you.

 

* * *

 

“I really need to study,” Scott says into your hair, for the fifth time, but it's not particularly believable considering he doesn't even open his eyes.

Isaac snorts into his shoulder and clings more tightly to his waist. “Please, aren't you getting straight A's or something?” he murmurs sleepily.

“No, I'm getting a B in Spanish,” Scott corrects him earnestly.

“Yeah, that must be terrible,” you say, rolling your eyes, but sarcasm doesn't work too well when you're this pleased with yourself. There's a dull ache between your legs because you got to have _both_ of them and wow, you never realized how awesome that would be.

Scott doesn't say anything, just strokes Isaac's hair gently, not realizing that Isaac is never going to leave him alone to study if he keeps being so sweet.

“Why are you so worried about your grades anyway?” you ask after the silence lengthens into something a bit awkward, at least to you.

“Mm, well, I failed two classes last year and had to do summer school, so I need to make up for that, you know?” Scott says, opening his eyes and bit and smiling self-deprecatingly. “I really want to take A.P. classes next year, especially A.P. Bio, and you have to get an A in the subject junior year to qualify. I just really need to bring up my GPA if I'm going to even be considered for a college scholarship.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling stupid. Because of course he had a really good reason for being concerned his grades. His entire future is at stake.

Not like you, with your old money parents and family legacy at the University of Paris.

“What do you want to major in?” Isaac asks, tilting his head up to look at Scott curiously.

“Biology, probably,” Scott says, sounding weirdly embarrassed. “I...I think I want to be a vet.”

“That's cool,” you say, trying to sound encouraging. You don't know why he seems so uncomfortable talking about what his future plans are.

“You'd be a good vet,” Isaac says with a yawn, snuggling further into Scott's side. “All the animals would listen to you, too, 'cause you're a werewolf.”

“Thanks,” Scott says shyly after a pause, looking deeply embarrassed at the compliment.

You roll over a bit more onto your side and duck down to kiss him, putting your hand on the side of his jaw and stroking your thumb up and down his cheek.

He's smiling when you pull back and it's perfect and infectious.

“You have a really beautiful smile,” Scott tells you, without a hint of irony.

You blink at him, stunned, and your cheeks burn. You have no idea what to say to that.

Thankfully, Isaac intervenes.

“Do _I_ have a beautiful smile?” he asks sarcastically, opening his eyes and smirking up at Scott.

“Yup!” Scott says with a sly grin and rolls over to tackle him.

Isaac yelps indignantly and struggles for a second, but then apparently decides to take advantage of Scott on top of him and grabs his ass under the sheets, pulling him flush down on top of him.

“Okay, seriously?” Scott laughs for a second, but then he goes quiet and slack-jawed when Isaac starts mouthing at his neck.

Isaac starts rocking his hips up against Scott's after a minute and they both groan, Scott letting his head fall on the pillow next to Isaac and gritting his teeth.

It sends a frisson of heat through you even though you're too worn out to join them. You roll over onto your side to get a better view, heart pounding in your chest. And you can't help the small noise that tears itself out of your throat when they kiss, the sheet slipping down Scott's lower back.

“ _Unph_ , shit, Scott,” Isaac whimpers, pulling back from Scott's mouth to arch up into him further, eyes squeezed shut.

“Shhh, alright,” Scott murmurs, though he's redfaced and strained as well. His left hand, the one that isn't currently engaged jerking Isaac off under the sheets, reaches over to grasp Isaac's left wrist. “Can I-uh-hold you here?” he asks, kissing Isaac gently on the cheek.

Isaac's eyes snap open. “Shit, Scott, please,” he gasps, without any hint of shame whatsoever.

Scott lets out a soft groan and pulls Isaac's arm up so that it's pinned next to his head, finger tightening on his wrist. The fact that he knows that's what Isaac likes, that Isaac likes to be pinned down, covered, kept safe, makes your stomach twist in pleasure almost as much as his reaction does.

Isaac writhes, rips his other hand out from under the covers to grasp Scott's shoulder and comes, face twisted up in a familiar expression.

“Oh, God,” Isaac moans, collapsing back onto the bed.

Scott grunts in frustration, continuing to grind down against Isaac until he stiffens and groans out his orgasm against Isaac's neck.

You swallow with difficulty as they pant for breath and snake your hand down, pressing the heel of your hand between your legs to relieve some of the pressure.

Isaac groans, wrapping both arms around Scott and nuzzles happily into his neck. “Gimme a couple minutes and I'll eat you out,” he mumbles.

“Uh huh,” you says, biting back a groan at the throbbing between your legs at the thought.

You're not expecting much and shift around uncomfortably while entertaining the notion of masturbating, but Isaac does actually manage to rouse himself and roll over to lie plant his face between your legs.

It's not that best head he's ever given, lacks the usual energy and enthusiasm, but to be fair you're more than a little self-conscious with Scott staring at you in fascination. He eventually gets you to come with his fingers and then you all doze off for a bit.

You wake mid-afternoon to the bed jerking violently and look over to see Scott sitting up, frozen, staring straight ahead.

“Scott?” you says worriedly, propping yourself up on an arm.

He doesn't respond for a second and then visibly relaxes, shoulders slumping and eyes closing.

“Oh, it's just the mailman,” he says, looking incredibly relieved. “Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“Nuh uh,” Isaac says, shaking his head, his hair brushing your nose.

“Who did you think it was?” you ask gently, though you wonder if maybe he just had a nightmare. God knows he has enough things to have nightmares about.

Scott's expression darkens for the first time you've seen in a while. “My dad,” he says shortly, lying back down on his back and looking up at the ceiling instead of at you. “He comes around sometimes.”

Sometimes? As in not just that once? The thought makes your chest tighten uncomfortably and you realize you know very little about his father. Isaac has gone still on your other side and you wonder if he knows something or if it's just his standard reaction to fathers. Neither option bodes well.

“What does he want?” you ask carefully.

“To “reconnect” with me apparently,” Scott says bitterly, tucking his arms under his head. “It's been like, five years, so no clue why he cares now.”

“You haven't seen him for five years?”

“Nope,” Scott says shortly.

You scootch closer to him and put your arm over his waist, chin knocking his shoulder. “I'm sorry.”

“He just thinks he can come back all of the sudden and we'll all be fine,” Scott bursts out, jaw tight with anger. “What, he thinks by just apologizing, I'm going to forgot how much of an asshole he was, drinking all the time, yelling at me and my mom, and, oh, yeah, _leaving_ for five years?!”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. You've never seen him so angry before, not even at crazy werewolf murderers. Behind you, you think Isaac has stopped breathing.

“Sorry,” Scott says after a beat, running a hand through his hair uncomfortably. “I shouldn't've...”

“What for?” you respond, frowning. “He sounds like an asshole.”

Your chest hurts at the thought of Scott growing up with an alcoholic, who apparently _yelled_ at him and his mom all the time, and then ditched him for five years. And now he wants to be a part of his son's life again? No wonder Scott's pissed.

“Yeah...” Scott says, weary all of the sudden. “He tries to make it all about him, too. Like, it turns out the whole reason he left in the first place was because he accidentally knocked me down the stairs when he was drunk. And then he left and stopped drinking. What am I even supposed to say to that? Oh, that makes it all better now? I am supposed to feel sorry for him? Seriously, the first time he accidentally hits his kid, he freaks out and leaves? Yeah, right, it was just an excus-”

“First time?” you say without thinking.

He turns to give you a strange look. “Uh...yeah?”

“What about when you were a kid?” you ask, confused. “Like if you were bad.”

Scott frowns at you. “What?” he says, looking confused.

Behind you, Isaac shifts slowly, reaching out to curl an arm around your waist. “Allison?” he says hesitantly.

“So what does your mom think?” you say, readjusting Scott's brown comforter just for something to do, your ears suddenly feeling extremely hot.

Scott's parents had never hit him, not once, you realize. And now he's looking at you like you're some disturbed freak.

“She's not even mad at him...” Scott says, still looking a little worried.

You duck down a little more, pressing your cheek into his mattress. It's not like you're some abused child. Your parents never beat you, not like Isaac's dad. They're just...old fashioned. It was mostly just spankings and slaps when you misbehaved or talked back. Like, spare the rod, spoil the child stuff. It's not a big deal. You're pretty sure that's normal. Right?

“They used to fight all the time, but she hasn't told him to stop coming around or anything. I think she thinks he's annoying, but she doesn't seem to hate him anymore,” Scott continues, but his voice is too gentle for your comfort. You should probably just be grateful he isn't trying to discuss it.

“Have you told her that you don't want to see him?” you ask, trying to sound normal.

“Yeah, but she thinks I should just humor him until he goes away,” Scott says with a resigned sigh. “I guess she's just sick of fighting.”

You don't really know what to say to that and just curl further into his shoulder, your chest feeling tight and uncomfortable. “That sucks,” you mutter. Parents suck. Except Scott's mom, you guess.

“My dad used to beat the shit out of me and lock me in this freezer we had in the basement,” Isaac says from behind you. “You know, in the interest of sharing.”

Which opens up a whole other can of worms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much plot in this one, guys. I hope you were able to keep up. I did have a lot of fun writing more of Scott (who is _adorable_ •∇•✿) Please comment!


	21. See me bare my teeth for you

“Hey,” you say when Scott and Isaac walk up to your table at the Chipotle across from Isaac's work, trying not to sound too relieved. Lydia has been happily describing her latest fling, some grad student taking a year off to write his thesis. Lydia always overshares, but it's even more awkward than usual this time because Stiles is here and is practically green with jealously. “What's wrong?” you say when they get closer, noticing their dispirited looks. Did something happen at Derek's?

“Nothing,” Isaac grunts, flopping down next to you. “Can we eat?”

“Derek more of an asshole than usual?” Stiles asks, taking an obnoxious slurp of his soda.

Both Scott and Isaac get the same vaguely ill look on their faces.

“Okay, what happened?” Stiles says, starting to look concerned. “Is it something evil again? Dammit, I knew the peace couldn't last!”

“No, it's not that,” Scott says, looking both rueful and resigned. “Derek has a girlfriend.”

“And you care why...?” Lydia asks, looking between Isaac and Scott in confusion.

“Let's just say we should have called ahead,” Isaac says with a unhappy twist of his mouth.

Ergh, you think, disgusted.

“Ergh,” Stiles chokes. “Do _not_ tell me anymore, I have been traumatized enough for today.”

“Okay, when you say it like that it sounds like it was worse than it was,” Scott says, giving Isaac a reproachful look. “They were just...there and it was awkward.”

“The entire room smelled like sex,” Isaac informs the table.

Scott cringes and groans, letting his head fall onto the table.

“Stop talking,” Stiles orders Isaac. “We are just about to eat, why do you always try to ruin everything?”

Unsurprisingly, Isaac just gives Stiles a nasty smirk and continues. “It was actually the girl who saved my life from the Alphas. Got some nasty scars, but she survived.”

“Really?” you say, distracted from your disgust at the idea of Derek having sex at this new information. “Who is she?”

“Some bounty hunter,” Isaac explains, already looking toward the front counter longingly. “Apparently Morrell hired her to watch out for us when the Alpha Pack came to town.”

Huh. Maybe you should stop glaring at Morrell every time you see her. But seriously, who's side is she on? The whole druid obsession with balance is stupid and illogical. At least Deaton seems to have chosen a side. You don't really know him or anything about him actually, but since he's done nothing but help Scott, clearly he has good taste.

“She was kind of hot too,” Isaac continues blithely.

You and Scott both turn to glare at him simultaneously.

“No, it's jus... just an observation ,” Isaac protests, but sinks a little in his seat, cowed.

“Alright, that's it, appetite ruined,” Stiles says, throwing his hands up in disgust. “Call me when you three have stopped being gross.”

He slides out from the other side of your table and stomps off towards the door.

“Stiles,” Scott says woundedly, jumping up to follow up. “Wait, c'mon, man.”

“What is his problem?” Lydia says, looking incredibly confused.

Isaac just smirks knowingly. “Who knows? Can we eat now?”

You frown at his attitude and shift uncomfortably in your seat, avoiding eye contact with Lydia.

You haven't told her about you and Scott and Isaac. You know you probably should, for the sake of honesty or whatever, but you don't really want to. Lydia's extremely judgmental about, well, everything, and you know she'd disapprove.

To be fair, though, she already disapproves of your relationship with Isaac.

“Isaac and I are having sex with Scott,” you tell her flatly. “And Stiles is pissed because he never learned to share in kindergarten.”

Isaac pitches forward and barely manages to prevent spitting out his drink onto the table in front of Lydia. You'd feel bad, except his drink is actually Stiles's drink, which he stole after the latter left, because Isaac enjoys being an asshole.

Lydia stares at you blankly and then turns to watch Isaac cough in disgust.

“ _Why_?” she says, with undisguised horror.

You shrug uncomfortably. “We are apparently all indecisive sluts,” you say casually, but grip your jean-covered thighs under the table in order to keep yourself from shaking.

“Oh, my God,” Isaac says and hides his face in his hands.

Lydia gives him a look uncannily similar to look one would give roadkill, rolls her eyes, and then seems to make the conscious decision to ignore him.

“So...how exactly does that work?” she asks, turning back to you and leaning forward interestedly.

“No!” Isaac says, dropping his hands and glaring at you. “Don't say anything!”

“Uh...” you say and curse inwardly that you didn't remember Lydia's neverending quest for details about your sex life. “Privately.”

Lydia sighs and rests her chin on the heel of her hand. “What is the point of you having a threesome if I don't get to hear about it?” she asks with absolutely no irony in her voice.

“Were you in the bathroom powdering your nose when they were handing out the manners?” Isaac snaps, face blotchy with embarrassment.

“Well, I'm guessing Scott's to make up for the lack of brain activity in this one,” Lydia says cruelly, ignoring Isaac's comment completely and then they're off.

In retrospect you probably shouldn't have confessed to your illicit polyamorous relationship in such a public place.

They're still insulting each other when Scott and Stiles come back, and you have to kick Isaac under the table and glare at Lydia to stop before Stiles sits down and joins in.

Still, the entire lunch is extremely uncomfortable, with Stiles glaring at Isaac, who just goads him further by smirking blithely in response, and Lydia keeps looking Scott up and down speculatively, while Scott shifts awkwardly under her gaze. Thankfully Erica and Boyd already had other plans or you imagine there'd be a full-out brawl in the middle of Chipotle.

“So Derek has a new girlfriend...” Stiles says, deciding for the time being to overlook the theft of his drink. “That seems like a disaster in the making. Is she evil?”

“What?” Scott says, giving him a confused look. “What are you talking about?”

“You know, because he used to date Kate...”

“What?!” you say, feeling a cold jolt run through your body.

“Derek and _Kate_?” Scott says, looking just as shocked as you feel.

“Uh, yeah, did I not tell you that?” Stiles says, frowning at him.

“What are you talking about?” you say shakily, feeling suddenly like you might throw up your burrito. “That doesn't...that doesn't even makes sense, Kate hated werewolves, why would she...”

“Uh...” Stiles says, looking extremely uncomfortable. “Yeah, it was before the fire. She wanted information, so...”

So she dated Derek. You feel strangely lightheaded and make an affirmative noise in the back of your throat. Your probably shouldn't be surprised; Kate never seemed to think relationships were anything more than a means to an end. When you were younger you used to think she was so cool and practical for that. The way she'd joke about her flings and look through your yearbook and rate the guys in your clas-

How old is Derek, anyway? you wonder with a horrified lurch of your stomach. The news articles you read about the fire said he and his older sister were at school, which means the youngest he could have been was a junior. And Kate would have been, what, 23?

She probably slept with him, you realize, feeling even sicker at the thought of it. And then got information from him that led to the deaths of most of his family. God, no wonder, he's such a mess.

This revelation ruins the rest of your day. You and Lydia were planning on going to next town over to buy Halloween costumes, but you're no longer in the mood and cancel as you leave the Chipotle.

“Allison, are you okay?” Scott says, following you to your car after your rather lackluster goodbye.

“Sorry,” you say tonelessly. “I just...I don't really want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Scott says gently, coming closer and peering down at your face worriedly. “We don't have to talk about it. Do you want to come home with me?”

You find yourself automatically looking to Isaac, who is procrastinating going to work by eavesdropping on your conversation from the other side of the parking lot.

“Yeah,” you say, and you're surprised at the intense relief you feel. You were just going to go home, but that probably isn't the best idea now that you think of it.

Isaac gives you a little wave and you try to smile at him, but it probably comes out extremely pained. It's okay, though, because you doubt he could see it anyway.

You go home with Scott and lie on his shoulder while he reads Native Son and strokes your hair every so often. The book is apparently extremely depressing (you haven't started it yet because your English teacher already said it wasn't going to be on the midterm) so he switches to his Physics book after an hour and turns on some music. You drift off despite the heavy weight of despair in your chest and wake several hours later to Isaac spooning you and lacing his fingers with yours.

You don't exactly feel great when you leave for dinner an hour later, but you feel less hopeless. What's done is done, you tell yourself firmly as your parents discuss government overregulation over dinner. You knew she was a bad person. This changes nothing.

But your steadfast attitude doesn't even last through the night.

 

 _You're in the usual motel room with Scott and Isaac, naked and eager in the dark. You're on top of Isaac, while Scott fucks you from behind, both in you, and it feels good,_ great _, if only you could have a little more-_

_"Well, well, well, what do we have here, Allison?" Kate drawls from across the room._

_"Kate?" you say, shocked, the pleasant burn of arousal morphing into fear._

_"_ Look _at these two," Kate smirks, eyes trailing slowly over Scott and Isaac's naked bodies. "I'm impressed, Allison. I can see why you're taking your sweet time putting them down."_

_"I'm not-" you say, terrified as she saunters closer._

_"Don't be modest, Allison," she laughs. "You remind me of myself when I was your age; I've always told you that."_

_She pulls out a gun and presses it to the back of Scott's head. "Don't worry," she tells you with a wicked grin. "I'll help."_

_She pulls the trigger and blood splatters across your face._

 

You scream into consciousness and struggle to get out from under your sheets. You clap your hand over your mouth once you realize where you are-it was just a dream, just a dream, Kate is dead, Scott and Isaac are safe, you're saf-

There's a loud bang from your bedroom door and you let a muffled shriek against your hand as your parents burst through your door, a gun and hunting knife at the ready.

You scramble backward into your headboard while your parents scan the room for intruders, weapons at the ready and faces tight with restrained violence. You've seen those faces before, but never so close.

"What are you _doing?!"_ you demand, voice high-pitched and shaking with terror.

"Why did you scream?" your father demands right back, face as pale as a sheet and he doesn't lower his gun. He's wearing sweatpants and a white undershirt, your mother a satin night shift, but it doesn't make them any less terrifying.

"I had a _nightmare_!" you burst out hysterically, tears spilling down the sides of your face. You clutch your bunched up sheets underneath you to anchor you as you shake, pressing yourself against the headboard as far as you can go. "Why do you have a _gun?_!"

"Chris, there's no one here," your mother says quietly, lowering her knife. Her shoulders relax, relief flickering across her face and you _hate her_. You hate _them_.

"Get out!" you shriek, but it comes out more like a sob.

"Allison, what's wrong?" your mother says, alarmed at your behavior.

"Are you alright?" your father says, lowering his gun and taking a step towards you, concerned.

"Just get out!" you choke, feeling trapped, like they're closing in on you.

"Allison, calm down," your mother says with a frown and crosses the room to sit on the edge of your bed.

You practically fall off the other side trying to get away from her and almost brain yourself on your bedside table.

“Allison!” your father says, sounding shocked, but you ignore him and use the side of the bed to pull yourself to your feet.

“I'm going to Lydia's,” you say wildly, because you can't stay here, not with them, not when they've brought the weapons they use to _kill people_ into your room.

“Allison, what-?” your father says, but you dodge around him, not daring to look at him as you exit the room.

“Allison, come back here!” your mother calls after you, and you break into a run once you reach the landing and take the stairs down two at a time, hand sticking to the railing from your sweat. There's a thundering from behind you and you barely just reach the downstairs landing before your father grabs your arm.

“Allison, calm down-”

“Let go of me!” you scream, struggling to yank your arm out of his grip in the dark, but he won't, he won't, he won't, and oh God, why won't they let you leave, what do they want with you? “Let me go, let me go, let me go-”

“Chris!” your mother says from the top of the stairs and you're suddenly released. You stumble backwards and trip, slamming your back into the wall next to the stairs. Your father looks down at you, bewildered, and you bury your face in your knees and cry because you can't see a way out of this They're never going to let you go. You'll be trapped here forever.

 

* * *

 

The next morning finds you seated in-between your parents at your therapist's office. Your therapist- you should really learn her name, shouldn't you? You think it starts with an M. Mary, Margaret, Martha, something boring like that- seems very tense, and you doubt it's because of your breakdown last night. You wonder what your parents did to get an appointment the very next morning.

“Allison, do you want to add anything?” your therapist says, snapping you back to reality. You blink at her and realize you completely missed your mother's explanation of what happened last night.

You shake your head. There's no point in you being here. It's not like you can tell her what really happened.

“I'm just so tired of this,” your mother says, like you're not even there. “I don't understand her. I thought the pills were supposed to make her better.”

“I'm afraid it's not that simple, Mrs. Argent,” your therapist says patiently, though if you're not mistaken there's a bit of a wariness in her expression as she observes your mother.

You're scaring civilians, Mom, you think dully, but don't actually care all that much.

“Now, if you don't mind, I think it would be more productive if I spoke to Allison alone,” your therapist says, and you have to school your face into a blank mask to not break down in relief right then and there.

Your mother huffs a little, but doesn't complain and both your parents rise from the couch.

“We'll be right outside,” your father says uncomfortably. He's by the far the more suspicious of therapy of your parents and you know he doesn't like your therapist. He made insulting comments about her weight all the way home the first time you met her. 'How are we supposed to expect someone to help Allison who can't even control her own weight?' blah, blah, blah.

Your parents are such assholes.

“Is there anything you'd like to say just between us?” your therapist asks you once your parents are gone.

You shrug and look down at the couch, wondering darkly if you should be checking for listening devices.

“It was dumb,” you say finally, because you really don't want to be here. It's going to suck explaining why you missed school today to Scott, Isaac, and Lydia. “I overreacted.”

“You must have been very scared, them coming into your room with weapons like that,” your therapist presses.

“My dad sells guns,” you tell her flatly, resisting a rude eyeroll, because, really, she's only doing her job. It's not her fault she can't help you. “It's not a big deal.”

“Clearly, it was,” she tells you, and you bite back a denial. “It's just me here, Allison. You don't have to pretend in here.”

You keep mutinously quiet, clenching your jaw in anger.

“Do you want to talk about the nightmare you had?” she asks you after a pause.

You consider this for a moment and then decide to throw her a bone. Kate's a good excuse as any why you're a screw-up.

“My aunt,” you say shortly.

"Your Aunt Kate?" your therapist says, making a note on her notepad, expression betraying nothing.

"I take it you've heard of her," you say bitterly, toes curling inside your boots.

"Your parents filled me in," your therapist says, like the discovery of your aunt's crimes and subsequent murder hadn't been national news. "Were you close?"

"Yeah," you say with a shrug, even though you suspect she already knows. "She's-she was only twelve years older than me."

"Have you had nightmares about her before?"

"No," you say truthfully.

Your therapist waits for you to say something else for a beat before continuing. "It's not uncommon for there to be a delay in grieving. When you first came here, your parents explained to me what had happened and that you were being harassed at school. You never wanted to discuss it. Would you like to talk about it now?"

"I'm not _grieving_ over her," you say, affronted. "My nightmare was about her trying to _kill_ my-me."

Your therapist raises her eyebrows at that and makes another note. "Did you ever feel unsafe around her?"

"No," you say tiredly. "She liked me. She always used to say we were so alike. My grandfather, though...he was a different story."

"You felt unsafe around your grandfather?" your therapist asks calmly, but you can tell she's steeling herself, as if expecting some horrific confession.

"He was just creepy," you say dismissively. "To be honest, I was glad when he died. Kate definitely got the serial killer gene from him."

"I see," your therapist says, surprise bleeding through her usually placid expression.

Shit. You probably shouldn't have said that.

But before you can figure out how to make your previous statement sound less callous, she continues: "What was your reaction when you found out what Kate did?"

You frown. "What kind of question is that?"

"Were you sad? Angry? Betrayed? A combination?"

Great, now she's trying to figure out if _you're_ a sociopath.

You shrug uncomfortably and look down at your boots. "Well, I found out right after my parents told me she'd been murdered, so..."

Your therapist waits.

"I was sad, I guess," you say defensively. "I didn't...I didn't _want_ her to die."

To your horror, you feel yourself tearing up and blink rapidly to clear your vision, your throat suddenly tight.

Kate was terrible. She murdered children. But death is so...final. You'll never see her again.

"Were you surprised?" your therapist asks gently.

You look away from her, down at the cactus on her desk. "No," you reply quietly, even though you know you shouldn't.

"You said she used to say you were just like her," your therapist continues in the same gentle tone. "Is that something that worries you?"

"I _am_ like her," you say with another shrug, because you know this. You've had months to come to terms with this. "I mean, I'm not going to go out and murd-burn someone's house down, but personality-wise, yeah, we're alike."

Your therapist makes another note. You wonder if this one says "Claims similarity with serial killer aunt. Proceed with caution." You really should stop talking, but you...don't really want to.

"Did she say that a lot? That you were alike?" she asks. "You said she always said it."

"Yeah, I guess," you say, trying to think back. "She liked when I copied her, I guess. She used to buy me clothes that were like hers."

"Have you considered she was saying that because she wanted it to be true, not because it is?"

"No..." you reply slowly. You'd never really thought about it. It'd been your entire life, after all. Kate has always been there. You used to pretend she was your older sister, and she certainly liked to play the part. You liked how she was always so cool and confident- always straightforward about what she wanted in life, rolling her eyes at your parents' strict rules and sneaking you out to buy ice cream on a school night or to watch R-rated movies. Kate was the best. She was fun, never treated you like a kid, your only long-term friend in a childhood of constant moving, and you were always so envious of her ability to stand up to your parents. You wanted to _be_ her.

Until you didn't.

It never occurred to you that she too was trying to mold you in her own image.

"I don't know," you say and again find yourself choking back tears.

Stop it, you tell yourself. This isn't a surprise. Kate murdered a family of innocents simply for existing. Of course her love was conditional.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset," your therapist says worriedly. "I just don't want you to take her word for it. You're seventeen years old, Allison. You get to decide who you're going to be."

I do, you think. And I already have.

You feel suddenly very grateful towards her and nod silently, even though she has no idea what an impossible task that is in your situation.

"Have you talked to your parents about Kate?" she asks next and your gratitude sours immediately. Clever segway.

"They don't talk about her," you say shortly.

"Do you feel you can't talk about her with them?"

"Definitely not," you say with a snort, curling your fingers into the fabric of the leather couch. "They're embarrassed of her."

"Embarrassed?" your therapist says, frowning in confusion.

"She makes us all look bad," you say, rolling your eyes.

"Do you think they're embarrassed of you?" she asks quietly, eyes full of compassion.

"Yeah," you say and pretend those words don't feel like a punch to the gut. "But they always have been. All that's changed is I stopped trying to please them."

"That seems like a very hard position to be in," your therapist says sympathetically.

You shrug. It is, but there's nothing you can do about it. You can only work with the hand you're dealt. And you know enough to understand it could be much worse.

"Look, I know I overreacted," you say, wanting to get this over with. "But I don't see why they had to drag me here and screw up your schedule. It wasn't that big of a deal."

“Your parents seem to think it is,” your therapist says neutrally, crossing her legs, shapeless under her long mauve skirt.

“My parents' response to me crying is to send me to therapy,” you reply angrily, and then bite your tongue. You need to get out of here. You've already said too much.

“Your parents are uncomfortable with emotion,” your therapist says. It's not a question. “What do you think about that?”

“There's nothing to think about that,” you say, looking away from her at her window. The wooden blinds are angled so light comes through, but you can't see outside. “It's just the way it is.”

 

* * *

 

 You go home. Your parents say nothing on the ride back. You go to your room and lie in bed, heart-pounding almost painfully in your chest. You're too anxious to fall asleep, and after a while you get bored of just lying in bed, so you pace around your room. You put your fallen clothes in your hamper, throw away an empty bag of pretzels on your desk, and are organizing your jewelry box full of earrings and necklaces you never wear when you realize that Kate's necklace is gone.

What? you think, emptying your jewelry box onto your bedspread and spreading the contents out for a better look. Where could it be? You know you only wore it once and where else would you put it?

It's not in your jewelry box. You look under your dresser in case it fell and then under your bed and desk. You pull out all the drawers. You take all the moving boxes and Kate's bag of guns out of your closet. You check under your mattress, pull all your furniture away from the wall. You tear apart your room and find nothing.

It's gone, you realize, panting and sweating in the middle of the wreck of your room. Did your parents take it? Why would they do that, take the last gift Kate ever gave you?

Are they so petty they won't let you have a small harmless memento of her?

Your chest is tight-you feel like you can't breathe. You don't know why you're so upset- you didn't even like the necklace. It was physical proof of how far back murder runs in your family. Celebrates it, even. But your feel sick at its absence, trapped in this tiny room. You can't stand it here anymore, you have to get out.

You wait until you're sure your parents have gone down to the basement and then you climb out your window and drive to Lydia's.

You feel stupid when you ring the doorbell and no one answers. It's not even noon yet. You're lucky her mother isn't home, because you have no idea how you'd explain that one.

You sit in her long driveway for a while, trying to figure out what to do, before finally deciding to go to Scott's. His mother's car is luckily not in the driveway, so you park across the street, check for any observers and then climb up onto the roof. Scott's window is locked, but Isaac's is cracked a bit, and you push it up with difficulty and climb on top of his air mattress, curling yourself under his sheets. His sweatshirt is lying on the floor next to your head and after a minute of staring at it, you pick it up and press it to your nose. You inhale the scent of his sweat and dandruff shampoo and burrow further into his pillow. You feel calm for the first time since last night, safe.

You sleep.

 

* * *

 

 “Allison?” someone says, and a hand on your shoulder shakes you gently. “Hey, wake up.”

You roll over onto your back and squint up at Scott. “Hey,” you mumble, your mouth somehow tasting grosser than it does in the morning.

“Are you okay?” he asks you gently. “Why weren't you in school today?”

You could not be less interested in talking about it. “Got in a fight with my parents,” you tell him, wiping sleep gunk out of your eyes and propping yourself up unsteadily on Isaac's air mattress. “What time is it?”

Scott shift a little from where he's seated next to you and the entire mattress shakes as a result. “Almost 3:30. You have like, uh, twenty missed calls, by the way.”

He hands you your phone and you grimace at the screen. Great.

“Maybe you should just text them to tell them you're alright?” Scott says when you put the phone back down on the wood floor.

You probably should, but you don't want to. Petty as it is, you want them to suffer.

“How did you get in here?” Stiles says from the door and you jump, almost causing Scott to fall off the bed. You didn't realize he was in here.

He's leaning against the door frame, looking at you suspiciously, no doubt for ruining his alone time with Scott.

“Window,” you grunt, not at all interested in dealing with him right now.

“You have got to start locking those, dude,” Stiles tells Scott and then looks over at Isaac's clothes folded in piles on top of the empty desk. “Wow, Isaac actually has his stupid scarfs color-coded, I have to take a picture of this.”

“Stiles,” Scott says, turning around to give him a reproachful look.

Isaac's scarfs are, you must admit, really, really stupid. They do make a convenient hand-hold, though.

“You wanna go get the TV set up?” Scott asks Stiles, putting a hand comfortingly on your back.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Stiles asks, a hard edge to his voice.

“What are you doing?” you ask, sitting up completely.

“Playing Halo,” Stiles says shortly. “Two-player mode.”

“Okay,” you say dully and roll out of bed.

You walk past Stiles and wash your face off in the bathroom, wincing inwardly at the miserable look on your face. You're so transparent, you think in disgust.

Scott is waiting outside the door when you come out. “Hey, you okay?” he asks worriedly.

“Yeah,” you say with a shrug, and it's not completely a lie. You feel much better than you did a couple hours ago.

You end up sitting downstairs next to Scott on the couch while he and Stiles play Halo, the sound of gunfire echoing uselessly through your head. Stiles is annoyed and suspicious, but he seems to get over it when you don't say anything or try anything to turn Scott's attention towards you. Scott presses the side of his body to yours steadfastly and you curl into him, feeling numb, but it's a welcome relief compared to how you felt this morning. After an hour you get a text from Lydia saying that your parents were over at her house looking for you. Shit, that means it won't be long before they come here. You reluctantly pick yourself off the couch and head home.

“If they come here tell them you haven't seen me,” you tell Scott as you pull open his front door, because the last thing you need is your parents mad at you about hanging out alone with boys.

“Okay,” Scott says worriedly. “Just...just, call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay,” you say and try to smile. “I'm fine. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Scott nods, brow furrowed in concern and you literally feel sick as you walk down his lawn to your car. You don't want to go home. You hate home. You wish you could stay here forever.

Your parents arrive home ten minutes after you text them of your return and they're so furious with you they can barely speak. They spend almost an hour lecturing you in the living room about how worried they were about you, about how anything could have happened to you. It'd be more intimidating except they gave you the same speech when you walked home from school with your friends in third grade that one time.

They don't mention anything about last night. They never apologize for scaring you. To be fair, you don't think your parents have ever apologized to you in your life.

You don't really say much. Just nod and say “Yes, I understand” at the appropriate intervals. At least until your mother tells you you're grounded for two weeks.

“What?” you say, head snapping up to stare at her. “Are you serious?”

You've never been grounded before. And _this_ is the straw that broke the camel's back?

“This kind of behavior cannot continue, Allison,” your mother says unwaveringly. “You're almost eighteen; you need to stop acting like a child. Your father and I have decided we won't tolerate any more...episodes. You can't just run away every time you get upset.”

Your blood boils with anger, but you bite your tongue before you can say anything you'll regret. I hate you, you think. I hate you, I hate you, I hate y-

“You have to start acting more responsibly,” your father says sternly, and you know this part so well you could practically say it along with him. “You have to get some control over your emotions. Do you think your mother and I let ourselves act so rashly when we get upset?”

“No,” you say flatly. Do they even have emotions?

But there's no point in arguing with them, so you accept your punishment without complaint.

 

* * *

 

You get to school early the next morning just to get out of the house and sit against your locker while you wait for the bell to ring, the distant sound of the girl's volleyball team practicing in the gym echoing through the empty hallway. You don't hear Isaac approach so you jerk a little in shock when he slides down the wall of lockers to sit next to you.

"Hey," he says quietly.

You grunt in response and don't look at him.

"What happened yesterday?"

You shrug uncomfortably. "Nothing."

Isaac waits.

You grit your teeth in annoyance and clench the fabric of your jeans over your thighs. "I just can't stand them sometimes. And then I get mad and I...and now I'm grounded."

"That sucks," Isaac says carefully.

You lean against him, cheek brushing his shoulder. "They're just so..."

Mean. It sounds so petty, though. Especially considering who you're talking to.

"Where's Scott?" you ask instead.

"Cross country."

"Oh."

 

* * *

  
Scott watches you worriedly for most of the day, and holds your hand under the table at lunch, but you don't really get the chance to talk until after school.

"You want to come over?" he asks, leaning against the locker next to yours. "Isaac doesn't have work tonight."

"I'm grounded," you remind him wearily.

But even as you say it you wonder what's the worst that could happen. It's not like your parents are going to lock you in a freezer in the basement.

So you go over to Scott's.

You're not really in the mood for sex, but Scott kisses you so sweetly and you'd probably have to be dead to turn down Isaac's tongue. So, yeah. You take longer than usual to come, but you feel a lot better when you do. You guess Lydia was right about sex being good for stress-relief.

Isaac rolls over on top of Scott after you regain your breath, and you watch them kiss furiously for a minute, feeling lazy and pleased. Isaac sits back to pull off his shirt and grins down at Scott happily.

"Hey," he says flipping open the button on Scott's jeans. "Let me blow you."

"Uh," Scott says, turning red all the way down to his collarbones, exposed from before when Isaac had pull down the collar of his shirt to mouth at them, and, _oh_ , that's pretty. "Yes? I mean, that would be awesome."

Isaac's grin widens and he pushes up Scott's shirt to kiss at his stomach. Scott pulls the rest of it off with shaking hands and moans low in his throat when Isaac pushes down his jeans and pulls his dick out of his boxer briefs.

You roll over to press yourself to Scott's side while he squirms under Isaac's ministrations, heart pounding and face burning hot at Scott's screwed up expression and whimpers of pleasure. Isaac seems annoyed that he can't get more of Scott's dick in his mouth, but he makes up for it with sheer cocksucking enthusiasm. It's kind of gross-involves way more saliva than is probably necessary-but Scott seems to enjoy it by the way he thrusts up into Isaac's mouth and moans helplessly.

"Shh," you say in his ear, and run your hands down his sweaty chest. He grabs at you, clutching your waist tightly and buries his head in your shoulder.

"Isaac," he says against your skin through gritted teeth. "Isaac, Isaac, I'm gonna, I'm gonna-"

Isaac ignores him and pushes his hips down, leaning down further to take more of him in his mouth, eyes fixed on Scott curled up in your arms, chest heaving with exertion.

Scott gives a violent jerk when he comes, groaning loudly, and Isaac pulls back automatically, coughing, his mouth dripping.

"Oh, my God," Scott moans into your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around him to steady him, but your eyes are fixed on Isaac, his mouth swollen and stained white.

That should not be so hot, you think, squirming a little at the renewed wetness between your thighs.

Isaac wipes his mouth with his forearm and leers at your naked body. "Gonna return the favor?"

Before you can answer, Scott's hand flashes up to grab Isaac by his waistband and pulls him down on top of him. He rolls Isaac onto his back before either of you can say anything and pins one wrist up over his head, unbuckling his belt with his other.

"Shhh," Scott says, gentle but firm and kicks his own pants off and onto the floor. Isaac shudders when Scott begins to stroke him, arching up into Scott as he nuzzles at neck.

Scott bites down, harder that you would have expected from him, and Isaac keens and jerks under Scott's body. His face flushes further and he pants open mouthed as Scott sucks on the bite.

"This okay?" Scott pulls back to murmur, watching Isaac's face through lidded eyes.

"Yes," Isaac gasps, straining for more. "Please."

Scott smiles and you watch dry mouthed and aching as he takes Isaac apart almost ruthlessly, peppering Isaac's neck with bites and kisses, and holding his wrist in place firmly.

Isaac makes increasingly loud and desperate noises, and when he comes you feel like you might explode if you don't do something to relieve the pressure. You press the heel of your palm against yourself in self preservation.

Isaac makes an unintelligible noise when Scott releases his arm and covers his eyes with it. Scott smiles down at him fondly and strokes his cheek gently as he clambers off him and turns his eyes to you.

His nostrils flare and eyes darken when he takes you in and you rip your hand away from yourself in embarrassment.

"Um," he says, eyes darting down between your legs and then up again immediately. "I was wondering...could I..."

You know instantly what he's talking about and blush despite yourself. You become painfully aware that you haven't shaved in a while-you started shaving your bikini area after you and Isaac first started having sex, but half the time you're too lazy to do it and it ends up looking even worse than if you never shaved at all. Which is where you're at now.

Isaac doesn't seem to care other than to complain about reverse stubble burn, but Isaac is a whiny baby who also complains when you eat garlic or when Lydia sprays some of her perfume on you, so you're more or less used to ignoring his opinions.

But you don't know what you would do if Scott complained about your lack of hygiene.

"O-okay," you say shyly, swallowing past your anxiety, because you _ache_. Scott smiles and scoots over to lie next to you, kissing you happily, hands trailing down your body.

"You're so beautiful," he tells you, looking earnestly into your eyes.

You don't know what to say to that, it makes you feel kind of tense and wary, so you just kiss him before he can make any more uncomfortable confessions.

"Scott, c'mon," you complain when he spends far too much time kissing your boobs and groping your ass. You don't need foreplay, you need to come _now_.

Your phone goes off, buzzing distractedly in your purse, and you groan in frustration and pull away from Scott to glare at it. It can't even be five yet, and already they've realized you're missing?

"I got it," Isaac says sleepily, and rolls out of bed to cross the room and mute it. He flops down in Scott's desk chair instead of coming back to bed and makes an imperious motion at you. "Don't stop on my account."

You roll your eyes at him and shove Scott's head down, fingers curling into his sweat-soaked hair, because this has gone on long enough. You need to _come_. Scott doesn't seem to mind and lets out a soft laugh. You hiss in frustration and try not to feel embarrassed when he settles between your legs and leans forward to lick a you.

He's way too gentle, even with your encouragement, but his fingers are nice inside you and he pays more attention to your clit than Isaac did when he first started going down on you.

Eventually you get too on edge and have to pull him away and get yourself off, but it still feels great. Scott gets Isaac to come back to bed and you curl up between the two of them happily.

You're just about to drift off when there's a knock on the door and Scott goes stiff beside you.

"Is he seriously here again?" Isaac says, sounding annoyed. "That's the second time this week."

Scott sits up abruptly, expression ice cold and muscles tense. There's another knock and then both Scott and Isaac inhale sharply.

"He has a key?" Isaac says, eyes widening.

Scott doesn't reply and slips out from under the covers and grabbing a shirt from the floor.

"Hey, no, Scott, wait," Isaac says, following him. "I'll get rid of him."

"What?" Scott says blankly, staring at him.

"Stay here, I'll get rid of him," Isaac says struggling to put on his shirt and buckle his belt at the same time.

"Scott?" Scott's father calls from downstairs.

"Isaac, no, don't, you shouldn't-"

You reach out and grab Scott around the waist, pulling him back so that his unbalances and tips back into bed.

"Scott, are you up there?" his dad calls.

Scott jerks in your arms, but you don't let him go and tighten your grip.

"I got this," Isaac tells him, makes it halfway out the door, then doubles back to grab his scarf off the floor and drapes it around his neck to cover the hickey on the side of his neck with a smirk.

At least the scarves are good for something, you think. Now if only they could fix his sex hair.

Isaac goes down the stairs and you here him say: "What are _you_ doing here?"

You can't make out a lot of the conversation, but you get the gist of it. Scott's dad insists that Scott is here because his bike is in the driveway, while Isaac denies it and tells him he's out with Stiles. Isaac tells him to leave and Scott's dad resists, but Isaac doesn't let up, accusing him of stalking Scott and trespassing.

Scott remains stiff in your arms the entire time, a muscle twitching in his jaw. You press your face into his neck comfortingly and rub his shoulders through his wrinkled shirt. He doesn't even relax when Isaac finally manages to scare him off. His heart beats rapidly through his back even as Isaac comes back upstairs.

"What an asshole," Isaac says, scowling and pulling off his scarf. "Can't he take a hint?"

"You didn't have to do that," Scott says slowly, still stiff.

Isaac shrugs. "You shouldn't have to deal with him if you don't want to." He's looking at his feet instead of at Scott though, like he's embarrassed.

Scott reaches out hesitantly, like he's not sure he should, and Isaac comes to him immediately and hugs him, Scott pressing his nose into his shoulder.

"Thanks," Scott whispers, almost inaudibly, and Isaac pulls him back down to the bed and kisses him softly.

Parents suck, you think sort of sadly as you settles against Scott's back and wrap an arm around his waist. Except Scott's mom. You can't wait to get married and change your name. You used to think the name Argent was cool, but now you hate it.

Allison Lahey, you think to yourself. It doesn't sound bad. Except that Isaac's dad is worse than your parents and Scott's dad combined.

"What's your mom's maiden name?" you ask Scott.

"Uh, Delgado," he replies.

Allison Delgado. Weird, but you think you could get used to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And everything is terrible again! :D Please comment!


	22. See me bare my teeth

It's the middle of November by the time you're ungrounded. Which was...annoying, but you think Lydia was even more annoyed than you, considering you missed her Halloween party. Scott and Isaac were bummed out too, but you could always drag one or both of them into your car after school. And you actually got bored enough on the weekends to study, so your grades are improving too.

You're free just in time for yet another supernatural disaster. Well, maybe disaster is overstating it. Mishap, more like.

Apparently, Stiles's dad has been going back through old cases looking for things that may have been supernatural and found some family that had been in a car crash on the full moon eight years ago. The mother and youngest daughter had been killed, by coyotes it was thought at the time. The older daughter was never found. Until now.

Her name is Malia and as a result of living as a coyote for the last eight years, she has absolutely no idea how to function in human society. You have no idea why that's your problem now that she's human again and not breaking into your school and terrifying innocent high schoolers, but since her father is a complete psycho who tried to shoot her, oh, my God, Scott feels responsible for making sure she's reintegrating okay.

Which would fine if she wasn't so _annoying_.

“I don't _want_ to wear pants,” she tells Scott, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring. “It feels weird.”

“We can't go outside unless you put them on,” Scott explains kindly while Stiles and Isaac blatantly stare at her bare legs. At least she's wearing underwear.

You kick Isaac in the shin.

“Ow,” he says. “What? I'm not allowed to look?”

You give him an unimpressed look.

“You could wear shorts,” Stiles says, pointing to the pile of old clothes you Lydia and Erica pooled together to give her. The shorts are definitely Lydia's. “Also, you probably wear a bra. And shave.”

“No,” Malia snarls at him and Scott steps forward to put a hand gently on her shoulder. She scowls and walks across her nine-year old bedroom to grab the shorts and put them on.

“Fine,” she says after wriggling around in them a bit to test their range of motion. “Can we go now?”

“What about shoes?” Stiles says and Malia lets out an angry growl and chucks one of the stuffed animals on her pale pink bedspread at his head.

Fifteen minutes later, dressed in Lydia's old jean shorts, one of Erica's oversized sweaters that disguises the fact that Malia absolutely refuses to wear a bra, and your old flip flops, you leave Malia's house and drive to meet Lydia, Erica, and Boyd at the Chinese place. Malia almost immediately complains about being cold, because it's _November_ , and only wants to eat raw meat at the restaurant, but she actually tries some white rice, which according to Stiles is progress.

Isaac likes Malia, and not just because her penchant for nudity. At first he was annoyed at how much of Scott's time she was taking up, but then her first words to Stiles were “Why do you smell so weird?” and he decided that she is hilarious. Malia mostly ignores the rest of you as irrelevant, but for some reason she is incredibly suspicious of Stiles and spends a good deal of the time they're in a room together watching him closely.

Derek and Cora don't really know what to think of her, though you know Scott occasionally asks them for advice about born werewolves. You and Isaac pointedly do not voice your opinions about Derek's teaching skills, but Scott seems to know anyway and always look sort of apologetic when he brings it up.

During one of these sessions, you meet Derek's girlfriend for the first time.

She's a tall black women with long hair, a nasty set of scars on her neck, and a gun strapped to her hip. She doesn't seem interested in you, exchanging a couple words with Scott before turning back to Derek, but something about her rubs you the wrong way. Maybe it's the way she scans you all briefly before deciding you're not worth her time. But that's stupid. She's clearly in her mid-twenties; being uninterested in teenagers (unlike some _other_ people) is probably a good sign.

Stiles, unsurprisingly, thinks she's evil.

“C'mon, you don't think she's even a little bit suspicious?” he complains when you're all sprawled in Scott's living room eating Jimmy John's. “She's a _bounty hunter_ , for God's sake! What if someone hires her to _murder_ us all?”

“Why would someone hire anyone to murder us all?” Lydia asks, mostly to be contrary.

“Because this is a terrible town,” Stiles says darkly.

“I don't think she would kill us. She saved Isaac,” Scott replies, frowning.

“Yeah, 'cause Morrell _paid_ her to. What if someone decides to pay her to kill him? Not that I'd be all that broken up about i-”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Scott says sharply, sitting up from your shoulder to give him an unimpressed look.

“Fine, fine,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes and holding up his hands in defense, missing the nasty look Isaac gives him.

“Getting paid to save someone is a lot different than getting paid to kill someone,” Scott says reasonably.

“What part of _bounty hunter_ do you not understand? And she totally said she'd kill me if someone paid her when I asked her last week!”

“That's just because you're really annoying,” Isaac puts in, smirking at Stiles cruelly.

“Alright, that's it, asshole,” Stiles scowls, scrambling to his feet. “You've got a proble-”

Before he can start a fight, Malia drags him back down next to her on the couch and slaps a hand over his mouth. “Quiet,” she snarls. “Why are you always so noisy?”

Stiles makes an indignant sound against her hand and tries to speak, but it comes out muffled and incoherent.

“Quiet,” Malia orders again, grabbing the back of his neck with her other hand and shaking him slightly before releasing him.

“Okay, do we need to go over the personal space less- okay, shutting up!” Stiles says quickly at Malia's growl.

Malia smiles in satisfaction and sits back against the couch, oblivious to the stares of everyone else around her. Isaac is smirking so widely you're afraid his face is going to crack, and Scott looks rather concerned at Malia's behavior, but Lydia just looks disdainful and aloof. So it's a day of the week that ends in 'y'.

"Look, I really don't think there's anything to worry about," Scott says, returning to their earlier conversation. "She seemed fine to me. And Erica and Boyd said she's here helping Morrell with protecting Beacon Hills."

Erica and Boyd, great judges of character there, you think. Clearly a reliable source of information.

"Morrell? Yeah, clearly a reliable source of information," Stiles grumbles, but doesn't seem interested in pursuing the subject any further.

"Okay, it's almost 3, time for you to go," Isaac decides, getting to his feet, eyes skating purposefully over you and Scott. "Scott, Allison, and I have stuff to do."

Everyone but Malia groans, Scott's cheeks flaming.

"Gross," Stiles says in disgust, glaring at him. "I didn't want to know that!"

"Hey, just because you aren't getting any-"

"Finish that sentence and you won't be getting any either," you snap, and then feel your face burn in embarrassment once you realize what you just said.

It does shut Isaac up, though. Next to you, Scott is hiding his face in his hands.

"What are they going to do?" Malia asks Stiles, looking at you in confusion.

"Nothing!" Stiles says hastily, cheeks turning a splotchy red. "Nothing at all."

Malia continues to look between you, Scott, and Isaac in bewilderment. Then her eyes widen in understanding, and you can practically see the lightbulb go on over her head. "Oh, you mean sex things," she says, sounding relieved to have figured out what is going on.

She frowns when you all stare at her in horror. "What? Is that another thing I'm not supposed to talk about?" She looks to Scott automatically, but as he's still hiding his face in his hands, she moves on to Stiles next.

"No, yes, I mean, no talking about it," he says awkwardly.

“But they're always talking about it on TV," she says, brow furrowed in genuine puzzlement. "And then in that Battlestar show you showed me they actually-"

"Stiles!" Scott says indignantly, raising his head finally. "You showed her Battlestar Galactica?"

"I forgot about the sex scenes!" Stiles says defensively.

"Is it because it's three people?" Malia continues horrifyingly. "I haven't heard people talking about that before. I've never been with three people. Well, I've never been with any people, but when I was a coyote I used to-"

It only gets worse from there.

After fifteen minutes, Malia and Stiles leave, the former having been thoroughly educated on appropriate discussion topics and the latter whining piteously about being scarred for life. Lydia follows them with a vaguely disgusted look on her face, and when Scott shuts the door behind, he groans and leans his forehead against it.

"Okay, that was disturbing," even Isaac admits with a grimace. His perturbation only lasts for a second though. "Can we go upstairs?" he asks Scott hopefully.

"Yes," Scott says decisively, pulling back from the door. "Let's do that."

 _Boys_ , you think, rolling your eyes as Isaac grins and clambers up the stairs, Scott on his heels.

But you follow them upstairs anyway, because, really, a distraction would be nice after that disaster.

"Hey, you're kind of quiet," Scott says, when the three of you are curled up naked in his bed half an hour later.

"Maybe I'm reminiscing," you say with a lazy smirk and kiss his bare chest gently. Isaac is plastered to his back, snoring quietly, having completely worn himself out.

"Yeah, um, that was..." Scott says, blushing.

Isaac had been very...enthusiastic, fucking you with the perfect rhythm and pressure on your clit. Then he'd blown Scott diligently, and slid up his body after he'd come and murmured that he should totally finger him.

Which was weird, but surprisingly hot, Isaac squirming back of Scott's fingers, making low gasping noises while Scott held him steady and stroked him off, sucking a mark into his shoulder.

You hadn't really thought much about Scott fucking Isaac, or the other way around. It seemed kind of, well, _gay_ , but it was all you could think of while Scott fingered him, how _hot_ it would be, Scott holding him down and just _giving_ it to him.

It shouldn't have been surprising, the thought that Isaac would like being fucked. Isaac's kind of a slut like that.

"You're not thinking about Malia, are you?" he asks worriedly.

"No," you say, grimacing, because the last thing you want to think about is coyote sex. "No, I was just...Braeden. I dunno, she's a supernatural _bounty hunter_. You don't think that's a little suspicious?"

"She saved Isaac's life," Scott says for the second time. "And she's working with Morrell, who I just found out is Deaton's _sister_."

You blink. "That... makes a lot of sense."

"Deaton vouches for her," Scott says with a shrug. "I know she was working with the Alpha Pack, but apparently she spent most of the time mitigating the damage they did."

"Okay," you say dubiously, still not convinced.

Scott pulls you closer to his chest and kisses you gently. "Hey," he says, looking into your eyes earnestly. "It's going to be okay. Anything that comes after us, we'll take care of it. We're stronger now than we've ever been before."

You guess that's true. Seven werewolves, two druids, a banshee, and a bounty hunter make it a lot more likely you'll be able to deal with problems in the future. If only you weren't the second-most useless person out of everyone. You're more useful than Stiles, but that doesn't make you feel any better. Maybe you should start taking self-defense classes again. But you don't want to do anything that would encourage your parents to bring you into the fold, and they'd been so annoying about them a couple weeks ago when some lacrosse player in your class got arrested for stalking some freshman girl.

 

* * *

 

You don't think much about Braeden over the next few days until you run into her at the grocery store on Wednesday night.

The sight of her putting a jar of peanut butter in her shopping basket is so bizarre that you just stare at her back for a second, and don't turn around in time to get away before she sees you.

She blinks at you when she catches you looking, recognition flashing across her face after a moment. "Hi?" she says, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

"Uh, hi," you say awkwardly, tightening your grip on your shopping cart and feeling your face flush.

"You want something?" she asks before you can flee.

"Uh, no, I mean, I wanted to ask about your gun belt," you say, as it's the first thing that pops into your head. She's not wearing it now, of course, and she looks almost naked without it. "I mean, where you got it. I-I don't have one, so..."

Oh, God, you think, as she stares at you blankly, and wish you could disappear now. It suddenly becomes very obvious why you're uncomfortable at even the mere mention of her.

You're jealous. She's a strong, confident bounty hunter, with years of experience holding her own and you're just sort of a mess in comparison. You're in better shape now, but you have absolutely no fighting abilities and rusty shooting skills. It was a miracle you managed to hit Gerard and even then it was only because your gun did most of the work. Compared to her you're just a dumb teenager playing with guns. A fraud.

"Uh, to be honest, I don't even remember," Braeden says, glancing down at where the belt would be on her waist. She looks up at you curiously. "You know, I might have an old one you could have."

"No, that's okay," you say quickly, wanting nothing more than to run away and hide on the opposite end of the store until she's gone.

"Nah, you can have it, I have too much stuff anyway," she says easily. "Hey, where do you go to shoot around here? Practice, I mean."

"Oh, I don't...I don't really practice," you reply, inwardly cringing at how much of an amateur that makes you sound. "I took lessons as a kid, but then I gave it up for a while."

"Yeah, there really aren't any ranges close by," she says, mercifully overlooking your pathetic stuttering. "I think the closest one's an hour north of here."

She looks at you searchingly for a second. "Wanna come with?"

 

* * *

 

“Isaac, what are you doing here?” you ask when you finally find him sitting against the wall in the corner of the school library.

He shrugs, not bothering to look up at you. “Studying,” he grunts, thumbing a page of the notebook in his lap.

“Why are you doing it here?” you ask, utterly confused. “Aren't you going to eat lunch?”

Isaac just shrugs again, doing a terrible job pretending not to be upset. You sit down next to him and peer at his face carefully.

“She bought me a bed,” Isaac says finally, your silent patience paying off after a minute. His shoulders go stiff, teeth gritted in frustration. “Melissa, she...she bought me a bed.”

“Oh,” you say blankly. “Is it...is it not a good bed?”

Isaac snorts with unamused laughter. “No,” he says bitterly, glaring down at his notebook. “I just...I didn't want her to do that.”

Why? “That airbed was sort of terrible,” you tell him.

Isaac's mouth twists in a scowl. “It was fine. I didn't need...I'm with Scott most nights anyway.”

Oh. You didn't know that and the realization makes warmth flood through you. A little jealously, too, but mostly warmth, because you're so happy that they get to be together.

You reach out to touch his arm, but he flinches away a little and then relaxes.

“What?” you say, confused why he's shying away.

Isaac just looks at the ground miserably for a second. “If she finds out, she'll...she'll be so mad,” he says quietly.

Oh. That's what this is about.

“We don't know that,” you tell him, sliding over to press your shoulder against his.

Except you kind of do. There's no way Scott's mother would be happy to find out her son and foster kid are involved in a sexual relationship. You're not sure she would throw him out, but she certainly wouldn't be comfortable with him staying with them anymore and Isaac knows it. You're not sure if Scott does, or if he's just trying not to think about it.

“It's going to be okay,” you tell him for lack of anything better to say and snuggle into his side. Isaac relaxes into you automatically and you're quiet for a couple minutes.

“I got all your texts,” Isaac says after a bit. “Why are you going to a shooting range with Braeden?”

“She asked,” you reply. “And I need practice.”

“I don't think you need practice,” he says, sounding uncomfortable.

“I do,” you say flatly. “Just in case.”

Isaac doesn't reply and instead leans down to rest his head on your shoulder, playing with a couple strands of your hair, still slightly damp from your morning shower. You sit in silence until the bell rings.

“He okay?” Scott asks before Gym, looking around the gymnasium for Isaac.

“Yeah, he will be,” you tell him, offering a reassuring smile.

Scott still looks worried. “He just...he's been so quiet. He wouldn't talk at all last night...”

“He does that, “ you tell him gently. “Just give him time.”

"Okay," Scott says, clearly unhappy about not being able to help. Isaac comes out of the boy's locker room and you watch Scott visibly restrain himself from going to him.

Isaac mopes around for the rest of the day, but by last period he stops avoiding your gaze, and sits quietly next to you in French, doodling on his worksheet.

"Have fun," he tells you dubiously as you walk out of the building to your car.

You shrug and smile wryly. "I'll try."

"Text me when you get home," Isaac says, like he's worried you might accidentally shoot yourself at the range.

"If you talk to Scott," you counter, pulling your keys out of your purse. "He's worried about you."

"Okay," Isaac concedes, looking a little guilty. He sticks his hands in his pockets, shoulders slumping and kicking at a pebble on the ground next to your car while you throw your backpack in the backseat.

"See you tomorrow, okay?" you say, giving him a quick kiss and squeezing his arm.

Isaac shrugs in response and turns to head to the other side of the parking lot where Scott's bike is parked.

You meet Braeden in the parking lot of the Target in the downtown area, and sit in the back of the lot until you catch sight of her weaving in between parked cars to get to you.

"Sorry, about this," she says, getting into your passenger seat and putting on the seat belt. "Derek _really_ doesn't want you knowing where he lives."

"The feeling is mutual," you don't say.

"I have the list," you say, handing over the list of the makes and models of all your guns, most of which you've never used. You turn on your GPS and are halfway through typing in the address before you think better of it.

"Hey, can we use your phone for directions?" you ask, reaching inside your bag to turn yours off. A couple weeks ago Isaac had brought up the fact that your parents could probably track you using your phone. You doubt they'd do it today-you told them you were going to the movies with Lydia after school and you plan on being home by dinner-but it would be very hard to explain if they found out you went to a gun range.

"Sure," Braeden says, handing you her phone without looking up from your list. "Shit, your aunt had good taste."

You flinch, turning to look at her in dismay, but she doesn't notice.

"I think we'd better start with the basics, though," she continues, oblivious to your stare. "Some of these are definitely not suitable for beginners. You said you've used the sniper rifle before?"

"Yeah," you say quietly. "Once."

She doesn't know about Kate, you realize. Derek never told her. It makes sense, you guess. You wouldn't want to tell anyone that either.

She looks up at you briefly at that, but thankfully doesn't ask.

The ride is less awkward with music from the radio, but even that can't disguise how little you have to talk about. You breathe an inward sigh of relief when you pull into the gravel parking lot full of SUVs at the gun range.

It looks pretty similar to the outdoor gun ranges in Laramie and Seattle your parents used to take you to, though more rural, the sharp sounds of gunfire clearly audible from inside the range. A clean cut range officer with a combover signs you in and asks for your ID, but he doesn't seem to care that you're underage, and waves you inside after checking over Braeden's guns and ammunition.

"I can pay you back," you tell her as you walk down the hallway to your lane. You didn't realize it was going to be so expensive.

"It's fine," she says dismissively. "I get paid well."

You reach lane number 15 and Braeden puts her case of guns on the side table and snaps it open.

"Okay, we're going to start out with the SR9c," she says, pulling out a small gun similar to the one you used when your dad first taught you how to shoot as a kid. "It's a good beginner's gun, but it's not too different from your aunt's .45 ACP that you've been using. Do you know how to load it?"

"Yes," you say, taking the gun from her, pointing the muzzle at the ground and removing the clip. You check if there's a bullet in the chamber out of habit (there isn't, of course, but your father'd drilled that particular lesson into you by the time you were seven) and then load the small bullets into the clip and slide it into place. You look up to see both Braeden and a range officer watching you carefully.

"Go on," she says, gesturing at the target.

You shake your head a bit against the weird feeling of the safety glasses and earmuffs and raise the gun, pointing it at the black outline of a person twenty yards away. The range is hot, so you just make sure your feet are in the right position and fire.

The bullet just barely hits the side of the outline and you wince, lowering the gun.

"Okay, not bad," Braeden says, and comes to your side to adjust your grip. "Your stance is good, but move your hands a little...yeah, like that. Okay, again."

You hit the outline square in the shoulder this time and exhale deeply in relief.

"Good, now try-"

"You ladies need a little help here?" a man's voice comes from behind you and you turn around to see a burly man in camo leering at you. "I bet I could fix your stance for you."

You stare at him incredulously, completely thrown, because why-

"Are you making a sexual advance on a minor?" Braeden asks harshly, taking a badge out of her pocket.

The man's light blue eyes widen, both at the badge and Braeden's scars. "I, no, shit, sorry," he says and flees.

After a few seconds there's a burst of uproarious laughter from a few lanes down. You look around the range and realize that you're the only women here.

"Is that real?" you ask, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest.

"Sort of," she replies, putting the badge away. "Again."

You raise your gun and imagine the black outline is the burly man.

You hit it right in the center of the chest.

"Good," Braeden says, and you can hear the grin in her voice.

 

* * *

 

"What do you mean it's sort of real?" you ask her on the drive back to Beacon Hills.

"It's...expired, I guess you could say," she says, talking it out of her pocket. "I used to be a US Marshal."

"Oh," you say, and suddenly understand her background a lot more clearly. US Marshal discovers the supernatural and becomes a rogue bounty hunter. It's like a movie.

Teaching the hapless teenager to shoot doesn't really fit into it, though.

"So you go around...killing things for money?" you ask her skeptically.

"Hey, girl's got to eat," she says carelessly. At your appalled look she laughs. "Don't look so scandalized. The people who end up with hits on them are generally _not_ good people. Mostly of the murderous, cannibalistic variety."

"Okay," you say. You probably shouldn't take her word for it, but it does make you feel better.

A long silence falls over you. You'd practiced for about an hour, and you kind of have a headache from concentrating so hard, but it was worth it to hit that target right between the eyes. Shooting in real life is different, but it's a relief to know you can at least hit a still target.

You're just about to turn on the radio, when Braeden speaks again.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" she says, and when you glance away from the road to look at her she has a dubious expression on her face.

"Uh, okay," you say, turning back to the highway as it curves slightly. What could she possibly want to know? Something about your parents?

"Are you really hooking up with Scott and that other beta?" she asks bluntly.

Oh, God.

"Yes," you reply tightly, not taking your eyes off the road and gripping the steering wheel harder.

She laughs. "And I thought I was wild in high school."

You glance at her hesitantly, not sure what to make of that reaction.

"I thought Derek was just being dramatic," she says, adjusting the seat and leaning back. "You're really turning the teenage rebellion thing up to eleven, aren't you?"

You laugh despite yourself. Teenage rebellion doesn't really cover it. Your family has murdered werewolves for hundreds of years and karma's a bitch. They deserve the daughter who gets off being fucked by two of them.

"Wait, how does Derek know?" you ask. Scott wouldn't have told him, would he?

"Werewolf noses seem more trouble than they're worth," she tells you, amused.

Ergh. You probably should have known, considering that's how Scott and Isaac knew about Derek and Braeden.

“So...you and Derek...?” you say, trying to keep the disgust out of your voice.

“Yeah,” she says with a shrug. “He's kind of disaster, but, you know, so am I.”

You keep your mouth firmly shut on this topic.

“Well, this was fun,” she says when you drop her off at the same parking lot, which is now mostly empty and only lit by street lights. “I'll give you my number, let's do it again sometime.”

“Really?” you ask her, confused why she's being so accommodating.

“Sure,” she says, reaching out for your phone. “If you're going to be involved in this world, you have to know how to protect yourself.”

It's true, but that still doesn't explain why she cares, you think as you hand her your phone. You watch as she turns it on, the light from the screen illuminating her face. She glances up at you and sees you looking, and her expression goes very serious.

“You're the only heir to the Argent name this side of the Atlantic,” she tells you quietly. “You know what that means, right? When they find out about you-and they will find out-you will not be safe.”

For a second you think she's talking about your parents, but, no, that doesn't make sense. Your parents are crazy, but you don't think they'd do anything to hurt you if they found out (if you were a werewolf, though, that is a completely different story.) She's talking about other hunters.

“Yeah,” you say, feeling your gut clench in fear. You look away from her at the dark parking lot in front of you. You'd always tried not to dwell on what would happen when your parents found out. You know it's inevitable, but if you could just push it back until you're eighteen and in college... “Thanks.”

“You did good,” she tells you, firmly. “You just need more practice.”

You nod and she opens the passenger seat door and climbs out, shutting it before grabbing her gun case out of the trunk.

“Braeden, thanks for...thanks for everything,” you roll down your window to say as she comes around your car.

“No problem,” she says easily, giving you a confident smile. “Us human girls got to stick together, right?”

She walks off into the night and you turn back to your windshield, feeling suddenly exhausted.

Not for the first time, you think about your life, your choices, your family, and think _this is not going to end well_.

You unlock your phone and hold it up to your ear, slumping back against your seat.

“Hey, Scott,” you say faintly, so relieved when he picks up on the second ring. “Yeah, it was good. What are you guys doing? No, I haven't even started it yet, is it hard? No, I can't, I told my parents I'd be home for dinner. I'm okay, I'm just a little tired. Really, tell Isaac I'm fine. No, it was good, I really needed the practice...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malia and Braeden! Also, as I know absolutely nothing about guns or shooting ranges, feel free to correct me if you notice any glaring inaccuracies. Please comment!


	23. Who, who are you really?

"Is it okay?” Isaac asks uncertainly, watching Scott's face closely.

“Uh huh,” Scott mumbles, eyes cracking open to look up at Isaac. His cheeks and the top of his chest is bright red, and he grips the back of Isaac's left arm tightly to steel himself. You watch as his eyelashes flutter closed and his lower body gives a weak jerk, a drop precum falling onto his belly, and wish he could be in you now.

“But is it good?” Isaac asks, clearly concerned by Scott's lack of response. He stills his fingers between Scott's spread legs and reaches out to stroke Scott's dick with his left hand.

Scott groans quietly, bucking his hips up, toes curling into the sheets. “Yeah, don't stop,” he says, reaching blindly for Isaac. You sidle closer to lie against his side, reaching out to tilt his face towards you to kiss him. You're unbelievably turned on, but there's something about Scott's muted reactions that steer you to be gentle, even though Scott's never been particularly loud in bed before. It's clearly bothering Isaac as well, who glances up at you uncertainly from his position halfway down Scott's body.

Scott is very hot to the touch and he moans quietly into your mouth as you kiss him. He shivers as you run your hands down his sweaty chest and touch his hair, and you're just nipping at his neck when he suddenly stiffens and lets out a near silent hiss. You feel a spurt of wetness hit your wrist and look up to watch Scott's face contort in pleasure. He is ridiculously pretty like this, you think in awe.

He sags back to Isaac's new bed after a second, face going slack and you hear the slight squelching sound of Isaac's removing his fingers from his ass. Scott's legs twitch slightly, but otherwise he has no reaction, still breathing heavily.

"Oh," he says after a second, head lolling to the side onto Isaac's pillow.

“You okay?” you ask, more for Isaac's sake, really, but you're surprised at how out of it he is.

"Yeah," Scott pants, bringing his arm up to cover his sweaty face. "That was...wow."

Isaac lets out a soft snort and smirks, reaching over to wipe the semen off his stomach with a handful of Kleenx from the box next to his bed, because Isaac has absolutely no sense of shame. “Yeah? Told you.”

“Yeah,” Scott says, smiling tiredly, and pulls at Isaac's arm so that he lies down on his other side.

The absolute earnestness of his voice sends a frisson of heat through your already keyed up body and you shift uncomfortably, your inner thighs wet with arousal. You really, _really_ enjoy watching them, okay?

Isaac seems to have the same reaction, because he rolls on top of Scott, rubbing his erection against the divot of Scott's hip. "Next time, you should, you know, fuck me," he murmurs in Scott's ear.

You groan low in the back of your throat, because you'd be lying if you said you haven't been thinking about that recently. A lot.

Scott takes his arm off his face and looks up at Isaac with wide eyes. "Really?" he says, starting to grin.

"Yeah," Isaac moans, forehead dropping down against Scott's shoulder as his hips continue to work against him. "That'd be hot."

Alright, that's it, you're done.

"Isaac," you groan, grabbing his shoulder. "Get over here."

Isaac pauses in his grinding and looks up at you in surprise. His eyes darken as he takes you in and nostrils flare, his lips curling into a smirk.

Gross, you think as you realize what he's smelling, feeling your insides heat up. Gross, gross, gross.

"Just..." you demand helplessly, gripping his shoulder tighter, but lacking the strength to pull him off Scott and on top of you one-handed.

Isaac looks disgustingly pleased with himself, but thankfully doesn't try to be witty and rolls over on top of you, divesting you of your bra and unbuttoning your jeans.

"C'mon," you hiss, all but sticking his hand down your pants. "Get a condom!"

Isaac groans, sliding two fingers into you, and leans over the side of his mattress to grab the condoms (in a strip hanging over the pile of textbooks he's using as a bedside table), while you kick off your jeans.

You both moan loudly when he finally pushes into you, too far gone to be quiet, and you whimper and arch up into him further when he gets a hand on your clit. God, you love sex, you think as you wrap both arms around Isaac's shoulders, hips working up to meet him. It really is the best.

"Ugh, shit, Allison," Isaac growls in your ear, wrapped his free arm around your waist, propping you up so that there's even more points of contact between your hips and he slides in deeper. You whimper and wish he had a third hand so he could touch your freaking boobs.

He starts making low desperate noises in your ear, and you hiss angrily and dig your nails into his back. "Don't you dare come before I do," you tell him.

"Trying," he grits out.

He rubs down harder on your clit and you moan, squirming helplessly in his sweaty grasp, and it's good, really good. But even as you feel your orgasm building up between your legs, you know it could be better.

"Isaac, wait, stop," you tell him, pushing his shoulders back harshly.

"What, Allison?!" he whines pathetically as you pull off him, immediately feeling cold and empty at his absence. "C'mon, I'm so clo-"

He immediately shuts up when you turn over onto your hands and knees.

"Oh, _shit_ ," Scott says reverently, and you feel your cheeks burn, not daring to look over at him.

Fortunately, Isaac jerks into action and plasters himself to your back and pushes into you without further delay.

"Yeah," you pant, widening your legs to get him deeper, his dick grinding up into you at just the right angle. "Yeah, yeah, Isaac, Isaac, can you-"

Isaac grunts, planting his right hand between your slick legs, rubbing at you firmly despite the difficulty in getting any purchase, and the left grabbing your boob and squeezing.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he thrusts into you rhythmically, and think, yes, yes, this is _perfect,_ before pleasure starts to overpower you and your arms give way. You bury your face in his pillow and muffle your loud cry in the fabric as you come, squeezing around his dick over and over. Isaac groans loudly, thrusting sporadically and then goes still, gasping silently into your hair. He slumps onto you, pinning you to the bed, and he's heavy, but it's kind of nice him still being inside of you, and you clench around him reflexively in appreciation.

Isaac doesn't seem to like it though, and hisses, pulling out and nearly falling off the mattress, which is a twin, and therefore not made for two people, much less three.

He makes an incoherent noise against your back and settles down halfway on top of you.

"Hey," you say hoarsely, lifting your head and shaking your body a bit to unsettle him. "Isaac. You’re still wearing the condom."

Isaac groans and does not move, indicating that he's planning on settling in here for the long haul, which should really not be surprising considering how much he loves sleeping on you or Scott.

You roll your eyes and turn your head towards Scott, shifting a little on your stomach to escape from Isaac's weight.

Scott has a sort of glazed over expression on his face, cheeks very red. He swallows as he watches you, and you suddenly become aware that great orgasm or not, you could totally go for another round.

You manage to extricate yourself from Isaac's body and press yourself to Scott's bare chest, throwing an arm around his waist and kissing his neck needily.

"Oh, Allison," Scott groans, shuddering at your touch, running a hand briefly through your loose hair before sliding it down to clasp your hip bone tentatively. "Should I-"

"Yesss," you hiss, and hide your face in his neck when he slides his hand between your legs. Scott always touches you gently, rubbing over every part of you, unlike Isaac, who is fairly straightforward. Usually it makes you impatient, but for some reason it really does it for you this time.

You roll him on top of you, bending your legs at the knees and hugging the sides of his hips with them.

Scott kisses you feverishly, like he wants to taste every part of you, and breaks away to kiss down your neck and chest, slipping a finger inside you.

You groan and grip his shoulder as he kisses your boobs, kneading your right nipple with his free hand. You buck up for more pressure on your clit, but he just kisses lower, his stubble brushing the sensitive skin of your belly.

"Scott," you complain to Isaac's ceiling. "Are you...will you-"

"Can I?" Scott raises his head to ask hopefully.

"Yes!" you reply, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.

Scott smiles at you happily, sending a shock of nonsexual warmth through your chest, before leaning down between your legs and sending a quite sexual one through you with his tongue.

He's new at this, and still doesn't really know what he's doing, but it's nice. He takes direction well, though he's still too gentle, and after the second almost-orgasm thwarted by lack of pressure, you finally grab his hair and push his head down further.

You immediately let go once you realize what you've done. "Sorry!" you gasp, mortified.

Scott raises his head, mouth wet and messy. "Is it not good?" he asks with a frown.

"No, it's good,” you reassure him quickly.

He doesn't look convinced, and brings your hand up to his head again. "Show me what to do," he tells you, and you feel yourself flush even further, the tops of your boobs turning red.

He leans down to suck your clit into his mouth and you close your eyes and tilt your head back onto the pillow, trying to concentrate. You curl your hand in his hair and press down lightly, moaning softly when he pushes down harder with his tongue. His fingers rub up just right and you manage to come with a gasp a couple minutes later.

Scott is red-faced and massaging his jaw when he flops down beside you, so you kind of owe it to him to return the favor. He squeaks with shock and moans while you get used to the feel of his weird foreskin in your mouth, hips quivering beneath you.

“Oh, God,” he pants afterwards, while you wipe off your mouth, trying not to make a disgusted face at the bitter taste.

You can’t help but smirk at his dazed expression and flop back down next to him, tracing up and down his abs mostly just because you can. Behind you, Isaac starts to snore, and you and Scott lock eyes and stifle your laughter in your hands.

“He always snores,” Scott says, pulling you close to his side and glancing over your head at Isaac fondly.

“Tell me about it,” you laugh, pressing your cheek to Scott’s chest.

As if he heard you, Isaac grunts in his sleep and rolls over against your back. Out of the corner of your eye you see Scott grin and reach over to stroke your cheek.

“I’m really glad I’m here with you,” he says earnestly.

You glance up at him, feeling your face redden. “Me too,” you whisper back shyly and then hide your face in his neck quickly.

This entire thing is crazy and weird, but it _works_. You all like each other, want each other, and you don’t see any point in giving this up. Who cares what anyone else thinks as long as you have _this_?

“So, um, you think Isaac meant it when he said…” Scott asks awkwardly, playing with the ends of your hair idly.

“That he wanted you to fuck him?” you ask, raising your head to grin at Scott’s embarrassed expression. “ _Yeah_ , he did. Isaac’s kind of a slut.”

Scott frowns, clearly taking it as an insult.

“No, in a good way. You know what I mean,” you explain, because he _has_ to. They _live_ together, and in your experience Isaac is pretty much always horny.

“Well, he’s pretty...incorrigible,” Scott says euphemistically.

“PSAT word of the day?” you ask him, amused.

“Last Thursday,” Scott says, grinning. “You should do them with me and Isaac, they’re fun.”

 _Isaac and I,_ a voice that sounds eerily like your mother thinks nastily. But who cares about grammar in real life when you know how to write it in a paper? It’s the only time it really counts anyway.

“Don’t we only take it March?” you ask. “Also, doesn’t it not really count? It’s a practice test, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s good for seeing how much work you need to do before you take the real thing,” Scott explains. “Also, scholarships.”

Shit. Of course. And now you feel like an asshole.

“They’re not even that obscure, either,” Scott continues with a yawn, leaning down against your head. “I knew a lot already from reading.”

“I’ll leave the prep for the people who actually have a chance of getting a decent score," you say pessimistically. Which doesn't include Isaac either. You wonder if Scott knows Isaac doesn't actually care about the PSAT, considering the low likelihood of him ever going to college. He has to know he's only doing it because he's never been able to say no to Scott.

"Don't say that," Scott says, looking worried. "You're smart, you just need to study more."

You do need to study more. It's just you find it very hard to care about your grades, the future. You're getting better, but it's definitely a work in progress.

"Don't worry about me," you shrug, because you don't like it when he does that. It's nice that he cares, really nice, one of the reasons why you love him, but you're starting to suspect he tries to distract himself from his own problems by worrying about everyone else's.

Wait. _Love_ him?

No, you don't, you think automatically. You can't. You're only seventeen, much too young to know anything about romantic love. This is also only your first (or is it second?) relationship. You have no idea what you're doing. You care about him, would and have killed for him, but coming from someone with the last name Argent, that doesn't mean much.

The reminder of Gerard unsettles you, and you swallow and curl further into his chest, a familiar sick feeling in the pit of your stomach.

"Your dad still bothering you?" you ask, trying to distract yourself from the memory of pulling that trigger.

Scott is quiet for a second before he says: "Yeah," he says sourly. "He's...around."

He doesn't elaborate and you raise your head to see a pinched look of concern on his face. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"Not yet," Scott says gloomily, uncharacteristically pessimistic. "But the Sheriff's impeachment hearing is in two weeks, and I...I don't know what's going to happen. If he loses his job...I don't know what he'll do."

Here we go again, you think bitterly. Worrying about everyone else above himself.

"And Stiles's dad has always been a cop, so I don't know what he'll-"

"I don't care about Stiles's dad," you interject flatly, propping yourself up on your right arm to look down at him seriously.

"W-what?" Scott says, looking hurt and confused.

"I care about you," you tell him, and lean over him to cup his face in your hands.

Scott looks like he doesn't know what to say to that, staring up at you with wide brown eyes.

"If he's still bothering you I want to help," you tell him. I can make him go away, you don't say, because that sounds rather ominous with your track record. You and Scott haven't talked about Gerard since you've been together. You know he doesn't approve of what you did, just as you know you'd do it all over again to keep him and Isaac safe.

"Really?" Scott says in a small voice, uncertainty all over his face.

His disbelief throws you off balance, and you nod silently, momentarily lost for words.

"He shouldn't...I don't want him to...I don't want you to have to worry that he's going to come around all the time," you say awkwardly, stumbling over your words.

Scott looks like he's going to cry for a second, and reaches out to hug you tightly before you can panic properly.

"Thanks," he says softly, voice sounding a bit wet.

"I'm on _your_ side," you tell him, shaken by his emotional response. "I'm always on your side."

Scott draws back to reverse your positions and cup your face in his hands this time. "I love you," he tells you seriously.

"I love you too," you respond, as easily as anything else.

He blinks at your quick response. "Really?" he says hesitantly, beginning to smile.

"'Course," you say, and wriggle out of his grasp to press your face to his chest, inexplicably shy all of the sudden. "Isaac loves you too, you know. We'd do anything for you."

Scott's arms tighten around you and he gives an alarming sniff after a moment.

You clutch him back, terrified at the prospect of him crying, but thankfully he quiets and you lie in silence together for a long while.

You must drift off at some point, not for long you think, and you wake up when the mattress jolts as Isaac almost falls off again.

Scott snorts with laughter, chest shaking under your body.

"What?" Isaac says defensively. "I'm all the way on the edge."

"No, I know," Scott says, adjusting you in his arms so he can turn on his side to see Isaac better, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "You're cute."

There is a long pause. "What? No," Isaac says, sounding shy and deeply embarrassed.

"Yes, you are," Scott says, only half-teasingly. You feel him reach over you to touch him. "Your hair is adorable. Also your cheekbones."

The fond, gentle way he says it makes something in the back of your mind buzz with pleasure. You love it when Scott says things like that, even though you half want to hide when you're on the receiving end of his compliments.

" _You're_ the cute one," Isaac blurts out, cheeks probably stained dark. "Your smile is really...cute and I like your eyes. They're nice."

"Oh...that's..." Scott says, sounding mortified, arm tightening around you.

"Also, you have a great ass," Isaac adds, sounding much more confident about this.

"You're, like, _pretty_ , though," Scott insists quickly. "Your mouth and your eyelashes are so _long_. Dude, you're totally the cute one. "

"No, with your jaw and your...your _face_? _You're_ the cute one."

Are they seriously arguing over this?

"Nuh uh, those cheekbones don't lie." A pause. "My jaw?"

"It's crooked."

"...yeah, I know," Scott says uncertainly and you feel him shift to touch it with his free hand.

"It's _adorable_." You can practically see the predatory grin on his face.

"It's not!" Scott protests, voice jumping an octave. "You're cuter!"

They're really arguing over this.

"No way," Isaac says, voice firm with conviction. "You're cuter. It's a fact."

"You two realize I'm awake, right?" you say, the words muffled slightly by Scott's collarbone.

There is a very long pause, Scott freezing under you.

Then Isaac rolls over to press himself to your side, hooking his chin over your left shoulder. "You're pretty cute too," he whispers. "Look at this hair," he says, picking up a handful of it off your back. "And speaking of eyelashes. Your's are gorgeous."

Your eyes snap open in mortification, feeling heat flood your face. Oh, God, no.

"You have really cute dimples," Scott adds earnestly, pulling you away from his chest and up to look at your face. "I always notice them when you smile."

"No, I, no, I don't, I'm not-" you stammer ducking your face down to hide it in the sheets.

"Your nose is cute too," Isaac informs you, clearly grinning against the shell of your ear, enjoying tormenting you because he's a dick. "And your little nipples..." He snakes a hand under you to tweak one.

"Hey!" you protest, smacking his hand away.

"You're the cutest girl I've ever met," Scott says, completely unironically. "I thought so from the second I first saw you."

"Noooo," you moan into the sheets. "Stop talking!"

Scott laughs happily and pulls you into his arms again, rubbing your bare back soothingly. "I can't, I'm not done telling you how cute you are!"

"I am _not_ the cute one," you protest indignantly, still hiding your face. " _You're_ the cute one. Isaac is the pretty one. I'm the normal one."

" _I'm_ the pretty one?" Isaac says incredulously. "Have you ever looked in a mirror?"

Scott starts to giggle helplessly and you raise your head to glare at him. He just giggles harder.

You roll onto your back to look at Isaac, elbowing him out of the way and bringing up the navy blue sheet to cover your boobs. "He's _giggling_ , Isaac. He is _much_ cuter than I am."

"That's fixable," Isaac responds and pounces.

"Wha-hey!" you shriek as he tickles your sides, struggling to get free. "No, get off, Scott, help!

 

* * *

 

You get the call just as you're starting your History worksheet about the War of 1812. Scott's name is on the caller ID, and you suppress a jolt of fear at the sight. Scott usually doesn't call you, just texts.

"Hey," you say, trying to sound calm. "What's going on?"

"You haven't happened to have heard from Isaac in the last couple hours, have you?" Scott asks, sounding anxious.

You glance down at the clock on the screen of your laptop. "He's at work now, isn't he?"

"Yeah, I know," he says. "But I was just wondering if he called you."

"No, he didn't," you reply, frowning and leaning back in your desk chair. "What's wrong?"

"I..." Scott says, sounding torn. "Oh, God, Allison, I punched his dad in the face."

"You _what_?" You say loudly, too loudly, and clap your hand over your mouth with a wince. You get to your feet and clutch your phone to your ear tightly. "What _happened_?!"

"We were at the grocery store and ran into him," Scott says, sounding miserable. "I didn't know who he was at first, but then Isaac's heart started beating really fast and he smelled terrified...He didn't say anything to Isaac, just gave him this disgusted look and went into the next aisle. Isaac was really freaked out-I mean, he was trying to pretend he was fine, but I could tell-so I told him we could just go, but he said he was okay, so we just went to the other end of the store to get paper towels. And then we thought he was gone, so we went to get all the other stuff we needed, but when we went to check out he was in the aisle next to us."

"Okay," you say, sick at the thought of how Isaac must have felt.

"And I tried, I told myself to just ignore him, but Isaac was just...I've never seen him that scared, Allison, not even when we fought the Alphas, I thought he was going to fall over, he was so white," Scott says, voice starting to shake with anger. "And then his dad starts yelling at the cashier for overcharging him, and I couldn't stand it, so I turned around and told him to leave her alone. He told me to mind my own business, and I said that he'd better leave. Then he called Isaac and me freaks, so I punched him."

 _Good_ , you think furiously, your blood boiling with rage. I wish you killed him. The idea that Isaac's father walks free everyday after what he did to him, especially now that you know the details, the _injustice_ of it, infuriates you. He deserves to rot in the ground.

"What did he do?" you force yourself to ask, shaking with anger.

"He just...fell over," Scott says tersely. "And hit his head on the counter. I'm pretty sure he broke his nose." He sounds distinctly unapologetic about it. "I told him I'd do worse than that if I ever saw him again. And then someone started to call the police, so we got out of there."

"Okay," you say over the roar of your heartbeat in your ears. "Okay. That's..." _Good_. That's what he gets. You are so angry and vengeful right now. You want to burn down his house. Preferably with him in it.

"Isaac wouldn't talk about it," Scott says quietly, reminding you of why he called in the first place. "And then he went to work. I don't think he's mad at me, he just...wouldn't talk."

"He doesn't...He's like that, about his dad," you say, feeling the anger fade. You sit down at the end of your bed and slump dejectedly. "Derek, too. He's...it's not that he doesn't care, it's just that he's not mad. I don't really know why."

Your parents are kind of mean, but they're nothing compared to Isaac's dad, and you still hate them. You don't understand how he can be so blasé after what that man did to him. Even Scott's mad, and his dad just left before he could screw up more.

"I shouldn't have punched him, I know," Scott says through gritted teeth. "But I don't regret it, _God,_ I wanted to kill him."

Inexplicably, you feel tears fill your eyes at his righteous anger. You want to kill him too, but it doesn't matter, because the damage has already been done. You cannot erase what that man did to Isaac. It will always have happened.

You fall back onto your bed and blink rapidly up at the ceiling, trying to breathe normally.

“Allison?” Scott says when you don't reply.

“Yeah,” you say hoarsely, swallowing past the knot in your throat. “Yeah, I...I don't know.”

“The first time we saw him Isaac said it wasn't a big deal,” Scott says. “He said he's seen him a couple times over the past few months, but he always just ignored him.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. _God_. You didn't know that. He never told you.

“He shouldn't have to see him anymore. He should be in _jail_ ,” Scott says, voice starting to shake again with emotion. “He shouldn't have to walk around and worry about running into him whenever he goes out.”

“Yeah,” you say, knowing that Scott isn't just talking about Isaac anymore, even if he doesn't realize it.

There's a long pause and you realize you can't think of anything to say.

“Are you going to pick him up at work?”

“Yeah,” Scott says. “I...I'll take care of him.”

You think about him wrapping Isaac up in his brown comforter and holding him close, stroking the back of his neck while Isaac breathes quietly and tries to pretend he isn't crying. It makes you feel hollow and empty, like you're not even a person. You hate that Scott's so far away, where you can't touch him. And you're stuck in this cold room in this cold house full of guns and murderers.

“Okay, text me when you pick him up,” you say and then have to hang up before you start crying.

 

* * *

 

Isaac is subdued the next day at school, but when you ask him how he's doing he just shrugs and says he's fine. Scott looks very worried, upset that there's nothing he can do to just _fix_ it, but you know it's just going to take time. He seems a little better by the end of the day and you take him out for pizza before he has to get to work, surprised by his resiliency. He just picks himself up and brushes himself off, and you're horribly jealous. You don't think you could do that.

You're very busy as November progresses. You have a research paper due, target practice with Braeden, legit study sessions with Lydia, and somewhat less legit study sessions with Scott and Isaac (much to the former's chagrin.) Isaac has work, Scott has cross-country and helping Malia gain control of her powers, something he and Stiles work on together, even though as far you can tell Malia doesn't really like Stiles. But then apparently she got mad one time he didn't come, so no one really knows what's going on there.

Stiles's dad's impeachment hearing is a couple days before Thanksgiving and to everyone's surprise, Scott's dad actually defends him and dismisses the incompetence charges. Because apparently this whole thing was a ruse to spend more time in Beacon Hills to try to reconcile with Scott. Yeah. What an asshole.

Scott is not particularly impressed with this either, but he begrudgingly agrees to at least spend time with his dad, and you don't like it. You worry the encounter with Isaac's dad has something to do with it, and it shouldn't. Just because Isaac's dad is worse than his own doesn't mean Scott's dad deserves forgiveness. But you keep your mouth shut about it because Scott seems less stressed out at his dad's presence in Beacon Hills now.

You spend pretty much all Thanksgiving Day cooking with your family and wishing you could spend the holiday with Isaac and the McCalls, who apparently just go to Kentucky Fried Chicken and see a movie afterward. Your parents' cooking is great, but it involves actually sitting across the dining room table from them while they try to get you to talk about school, and you have enough of that every other night.

On Black Friday you and Lydia go to the mall to look at the sales, which is fun for approximately five minutes and then becomes very boring. Still, you follow her from store to store for a couple hours until the frenzy of desperate shoppers dies down and you get lunch. Then you drive back to Beacon Hills and meet Isaac and Scott at the usual motel.

“Seriously, just stick it in,” Isaac complains, pulling Scott further on top of him and squirming back onto his fingers impatiently.

“Are you sure?” Scott asks, though he's panting slightly, face and upper part of his chest red as he looks down at Isaac, pupils dilated.

“Yess,” Isaac hisses, clutching his shoulders. “C'mon, Allison, tell him.”

You smile despite yourself and sit up, wrapping your arms around Scott's waist and hooking your chin over his shoulder. “Go ahead,” you murmur into his ear. “He wants it.”

Scott groans low in his throat. “I, shit, okay, wait, I think I need more lube.”

You hand him the tube even you think it's a bit overkill and watch fascinated as he coats his dick with it and then pushes slowly into Isaac.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Isaac gasps, eyes going wide and Scott freezes.

“I...” Scott pants. “Is it...is it-”

“Don't _stop_ ,” Isaac practically whines, closing his eyes and arching his back into it. “Scott, _c'mon_.”

“Oh God,” Scott moans and thrusts in a little further.

Your heart pounds furiously as Scott fucks him slowly, Isaac groaning and tossing his head. After a minute, he reaches down to grab his dick, but you bat his hand away and bring both of them up to the headboard.

“Nuh uh,” you say quietly,gripping his wrists tightly as he whines. “Hold here.”

Isaac complies automatically and then gasps and you smooth your hands down his sweaty chest and start to jerk him off.

“Allis-oh, _fuck_ , Scott, please, can you, I need-” he babbles, bucking up his hips harder.

Scott growls, a flash of red in his eyes, and starts to move faster, bracing his hands on either side of Isaac's shoulders.

It only takes a couple of seconds for Isaac to come in your hand with a yelp, and Scott whines in the back of his throat and follows soon after with a screwed up expression and a series of jerky thrusts of his hips.

Scott sort of collapses on top of Isaac, who doesn't seem to mind and just wraps his arms around him with a grunt. You squirm uncomfortably for a few seconds, but neither of them seem like they're going to be moving anytime soon, so you just decide to screw it and slide under the comforter to masturbate.

“Oh God,” Scott says after a minute later and pulls out, the condom starting to leak. Isaac whines piteously. “Shit, sorry, are you okay?”

“Come here,” Isaac demands, pulling him back down again and burying his face in his neck.

“Uh, I need to-” Scott says, stripping off the condom and trying to figure out where to put it.

You take it from him in amusement and drop it in the trash can on your side of the bed.

“Are you okay?” Scott says worriedly, stroking Isaac's back. “Was it...was it okay?”

“Yes,” Isaac says, voice muffled by his shoulder. “Don' move.”

You and Scott both grin happily and you lie back down next to Isaac, pressing your chest to his back and wrapping your arm around his waist. “That good, huh?” you murmur, still kind of turned on.

“Yess,” Isaac agrees, nuzzling at Scott's neck sleepily. “We are definitely doing that again. Just gimme a minute.”

“Okay,” Scott says, smiling helplessly. “We could...um...we could do it the other way around if you wanted.”

Isaac stills for a second and then glances up at Scott. “Really?” he says, sounding surprised.

“Yeah, I mean, if you want,” Scott says, blushing and looking suddenly shy, like he hadn't had his dick in Isaac's ass a couple minutes ago.

“Oh, I want,” Isaac responds, hand sliding down to grab Scott's ass.

Your stifle your moan against Isaac's shoulder, because _how_ is this your life? How can it be that a year ago you were spending your free time listening to depressing music and eating Oreos in your room, and now you're getting off watching your two boyfriends fuck in a seedy motel room?

“Oh, you had your turn,” Isaac says smugly, nuzzling more insistently at Scott's neck and squeezing his ass. “There's only so much of me to go around.”

You snort with laughter. “Yeah, 'cause your dick's so special.”

“You thought so last week when you were moaning my name,” Isaac says, and you can't see his face, but the smirk is evident in every word.

“Okay, remember how we talked about how there are times when you need to stop talking?” Scott says, sounding simultaneously amused and possessive. “This is one of those times.”

“Maybe give me something better to do with my mouth,” Isaac replies, hand drifting down Scott's chest.

Scott snorts with laughter. “Which do you want; to blow me or to screw me?”

“Mmm, both,” Isaac says and leans forward to suck at the sensitive skin behind Scott's ear that always makes him shudder.

“If you're looking for something to do with your mouth, then get over here,” you say tugging at his shoulder insistently.

“Ugh, fine,” Isaac says, sounding aggrieved, and then ducks down under the comforter to do things with his mouth that aren't as obnoxious.

By the time he's done getting you off Scott has gained a second wind and is watching the two of you with heated eyes. He pulls Isaac on top of him, grasping the short hair at the back of his neck and murmurs that he wants him in him, causing Isaac to shake and groan. Unfortunately the mechanics aren't as easy as all that.

“Ugh, okay, you gotta relax more,” Isaac says, grimacing in a way that doesn't seem all that pleasant. He shifts over Scott a bit, knees slipping a bit on the sheets.

Scott flinches, face tight and uncomfortable and squirms awkwardly around Isaac's dick. “Yeah, I'm trying.” His voice sounds pained.

“You're just...really tight,” Isaac grunts, arms shaking as he tries not to move.

“Do you need more lube?” you ask worriedly, reaching for the bottle.

“No, just,” Isaac says, and moves down to stroke Scott's dick, which has flagged distressingly. But he inadvertently pushes further into Scott, who stiffens further and grimaces in pain. “Shit, sorry!”

“Here, I think,” Scott says, opening his eyes and taking a deep breath. He puts his hand on Isaac's shoulder, as if to push him back. “I think it'll go easier if I turn over.”

Isaac pulls out slowly. “I..are you sure?” he says, starting to sound freaked out.

“Yup,” Scott says tersely, but he won't quite meet either of your eyes and rolls onto his stomach quickly before pushing himself up onto his hands and knees.

“I...” Isaac says, looking to you nervously. “Are you sure you want to...”

“Yeah, c'mon,” Scott says lightly, head hanging down.

“I mean, we don't have to...”

“ _Isaac_ , come _on_ ,” Scott hisses, hands clenching the sheets.

Isaac still looks nervous, but he bends over Scott, easing in gently and resting his forehead on the back of Scott's shoulder. “Is it..is it okay?”

“Yeah,” Scott grunts, grimacing a little. “You can...” He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes, staring blankly down at the sheets. “You can move.”

Isaac does, carefully, reaching around to jerk him off and Scott moans quietly, eyes slipping shut again.

They continue like that for a minute, Isaac getting redder and redder, arms shaking violently as he tries to hold himself back, but Scott is very quiet. He makes soft gasping noises and groans in the back of his throat, face screwed up in focus, but he doesn't sound like he usually does.

“Hey, Scott,” you say gently, ducking down a little to see his face. “Doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Scott says tensely. “I just, Isaac, you can, you should just, I'm not sure I can-” He makes a low whining noise when Isaac stutters to a halt. “No, Isaac, don't stop, it's good, I just...”

“Should I-” Isaac pants, starting to pull out.

“No,” Scott snarls, gritting his teeth. “Just, keep going.”

Isaac whimpers lowly and thrusts. “Is it, is this okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, right...just a little more,” Scott moans, pushing back and squirming his hips back until his face goes slack in the first good sign you've seen since this started. “ _Ah_. Yeah, like that. That's good.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Isaac swears and pushes in harder. “ _Scott_.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” you whisper, taking Scott's face and pull it to the side slightly so that you can see him better. “You need to relax, okay, Scott?” You press your forehead to his. “Don't think, just let it happen.”

“I'm not sure I can- Oh! _God!_ Isaac, that's, yeah, right there, please-”

“Shit,” Isaac hisses, starting to lose his rhythm. “Scott, you gotta-”

“I don't...I'm not sure if I can...”

“It's okay, Scott, it's okay,” you soothe him, reaching down with one hand to grip his right hand on the bed and lace your fingers together. “You're doing good, you're going good, you're almost there, baby, just let go.” You let go of his face with your other hand and run your hand through his damp hair, gripping it tightly. “That's it, Scott, you can do it, you're so clo-”

Scott is loud when he comes, crying out into the dark motel room and clenching your hand so tightly your knuckles crack.

“Oh, fuck!” Isaac yelps and then collapses onto Scott's back, smooshing his face into Scott's shoulder, causing Scott's arms to give way.

Isaac moans softly, giving a couple weak thrusts of his hips and then pulls out, rolling over onto his back. “Oh, my God,” he gasps, chest heaving. “I think you broke my dick.”

Scott just moans weakly into the sheet in reply, not shifting even though he has to be lying right on the wet spot.

“Hey, c'mere,” you say, pulling his head towards you, worried he won't be able to breathe like that. “Are you okay?”

Scott just groans, eyelids fluttering weakly but ultimately not opening.

“Scott?” you say gently, kissing his cheek.

“Uh, sorry,” he murmurs.“Your hand, did I-”

“No, no, it's fine,” you reassure him, not sure what to make of his slurred speech. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, was good,” he mumbles, still not opening his eyes. “Sorry, I just...I didn't mean to take so long to-”

“Don't apologize,” Isaac says, still sounding winded. “ _Jesus_.”

“Hey, hey, c'mere,” you say gently, still uncertain at his behavior. He seems very worn out-he's certainly never been that loud before-and you pull him into your arms and stroke his back. “There we go, you sure you're okay?”

“Yeah, 'm good,” Scott murmurs into your shoulder. “Was really good, I, was I too loud? I didn' mean to-”

“Hey, hey, no, you were good, you were perfect,” you tell him, holding him tighter and kissing the top of his head.

Scott lets out a small moan of pleasure at the praise and curls into you further. You raise your eyebrows in surprise because you've never seen him so uninhibited and relaxed.

He's still for a couple seconds and then lifts his head, shifting in your arms. “Isaac?” he mumbles, sounding confused. “Where's Isaac?”

“Here,” Isaac says, pulling him over onto his back and the both of you press yourselves to his sides.

“Mmm, I love you,” Scott says happily, wrapping an arm around Isaac's shoulders.

Isaac's eyes go wide and disbelieving, glancing between you and Scott uncertainly.

You smile at him encouragingly and Isaac lies down on Scott's shoulder and shyly murmurs. “I love you too.”

You drift off for a bit and wake to the sound of Scott talking quietly. You sit up, stifling a groan of disgust at the dried semen that has somehow managed to get on your elbow, to see him sitting in his boxers at the edge of the bed with his phone.

“...dude, you're going way too fast, you gotta slow down,” Scott is saying. “When you say she jumped you...is that a good thing? ...I mean, you don't sound too sure abou-...okay, okay, Stiles, I really did _not_ need to know th-Hey, I do not talk about Allison and Isaac all the time! No, really, I'm happy for you, I am...Are you guys, like, together now? ...you ask her? ...Stiles, she wasn't a _baby_ when she disappeared, she knows what dating is.”

“What?” you say, bewildered, because Scott cannot be having the conversation you think he is.

Scott turns around and gives you a helpless look. “Hey, look, can I call you back in like an hour, I'm kind of in the middle of some-no, I will, I promise, I just really have to go... _Stiles_ , don't be gross-okay, bye.”

He lowers his phone and gives a rueful shrug. “Sorry, he was kind of freaking out.”

“About what...?” you ask slowly.

“Uh, Malia sort of came onto him,” Scott says, looking like he can't quite believe it either. “Actually, she declared her intentions to make out with him. And then they made out.”

“What?” you say, staring. “I thought she hated him!”

“I did, too?” Scott says, bemused. “I have no idea. I did _not_ see that coming.”

“Mmgh, wha-” Isaac mumbles, half-asleep.

“It's nothing,” you say, because you don't want to listen to him complain about Stiles right now.

You turn to look back at Scott and wince at the dried semen all over his stomach.

“Uh, yeah, that's kind of...” Scott says following your gaze and looking down at himself.

“You okay?” you ask him, shifting over to the side of the bed and throwing your legs over the edge of it, pushing off the comforter even though the room is chilly. The sun's gone down while you were asleep, but the lights from the hallway shine through the threadbare curtains of the room, illuminating his face clearly.

“Oka...yeah, yeah! I'm good,” Scott says, shifting awkwardly in embarrassment and shyness. He looks down at his bare feet on the carpet instead of at you.

You get out of bed and pad naked over to him, reaching out for his hand. “You wanna take a shower?” you ask, grinning at him happily.

He glances up at you and grins back, bringing his hand up to tug on a lock of your hair. You kiss him and wrap your arms around his shoulders, enjoying the way his hands trail down your bare back to your ass.

“Let's go take a shower,” you whisper when you break apart, and pull him into the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of super important plot points in this. You better appreciate it because I practically gave myself a cavity writing this...(;¬‸¬) Please comment!


	24. And where, where are you going?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains torture and threats of rape.

 "I don't understand," Malia admits, frustrated. "Why is math so hard?"

"It's not exactly something most people use in everyday life," Scott tells her reassuringly.

"Especially, you know, as a coyote," Stiles adds.

Malia scowls at the reference to her preferred state and hands Scott's Trigonometry textbook back to him, looking discouraged.

It's December now, and a week and a half before finals. You're all sitting around Lydia's enormous living room trying to study, and you're kind of annoyed that Scott is spending more time helping Malia with her homework from her tutor than focusing on his own studying. Malia shouldn't even be here actually, except her father apparently decided that she needs to start at Beacon Hills High next semester, and she has to prepare for the placement test. You suppose you should just be glad he's stopped threatening to send her to a mental hospital if she doesn't behave suitably human. Because he's terrible.

"And it's not just math, it's in science too," Malia complains, glaring down at her papers on her lap. "I don't see how that's fair."

"There's less in biology," Lydia points out from her place in the white armchair next to the fireplace. "Speaking of, did you take your pill today?"

Stiles goes rigid on Scott's other side on the couch, and Scott conveniently decides that this is the perfect time to check his email on his phone.

Malia scrunches up her expression. "I think so. I forget."

Lydia gives her an annoyed look. "You have to take it at the same time every day or it's not going to work."

"Also if you're screwing Stiles, you _really_ want to make sure you take them," Erica says from her seat in the floor next to Boyd, who looks just as excited about this conversation as you are.

"Ugh, don't even talk about that," Isaac says in disgust, sitting up from the foot of the couch where he was leaning his head on your left knee to glare at Erica.

"I'm not screwing him," Malia tells Erica matter-of-factly. "Yet."

" _O_ kay, who wants some drinks!" Stiles says, shooting to his feet, face an impressive mauve.

Scott looks up from his phone, which he has been determinedly staring at the past minute. "I'll have an orange juice," he says.

"Water," Malia says easily, oblivious to Stiles's discomfort.

"Do you have Coke?" Isaac asks Lydia.

"Have I had it the last twelve times you've asked?" Lydia replies, annoyed.

Isaac scowls and crosses his arms over his chest.

"You could just say no, you know," Erica says testily, while Stiles flees to the other end of the house, hopefully to not make a mess of Lydia's kitchen. "Your default doesn't have to be heartless bitch, you know."

"Erica," Scott says, frowning at her reprovingly.

"You make it sound like it's not a conscious choice," Isaac scoffs, smirking nastily at Lydia.

"Am I supposed to be hurt by that?" Lydia asks mockingly. " _Please_ , grow up."

" _You're_ the one who can't answer a simple question without insulting people!" Erica shoots back, and Boyd sighs, leaning back from his notebook to give you a mournful look that clearly states _why are we attracted to annoying blond people_?

"Okay, why don't we..." Scott starts beseechingly.

"If you have a problem then get out of my house," Lydia says with a disdainful sniff, looking back down at her phone.

"Yeah, 'cause we all really want to be here right now," Isaac responds with an eyeroll, winding his stupid gray scarf around his neck.

You shrug helplessly at Boyd. _We have terrible taste._

They snipe at each other some more until Scott finally puts his foot down, but you're just glad you've moved away from the awkward birth control conversation.

Upon discovering that once she was no longer at near starvation weight she would start bleeding from the vagina once a month, Malia became even less interested in being human and decided she wanted to be a coyote again. Fortunately, Erica intervened, sharing the fact that she doesn't have periods on the birth control pill she's on, and managed to convince her not to completely give up on the whole human thing. _Unfortunately,_ for you, at least, during this whole debacle Lydia offhandedly mentioned your Nuvo Ring, which neither Isaac nor Scott knew about. Scott didn't really care, but Isaac got all pissed, first that you didn't tell him, and second that you didn't want to have sex without condoms. You were both mad at each other then, until Scott convinced Isaac that he was being an asshole, but the whole thing was extremely uncomfortable, and you don't like being reminded of it.

"Okay, I think we're done for now," Scott says an hour later, trying not to blush obviously at the third time Isaac has oh so casually leaned up against him in the guise up looking over his shoulder at his English book.

Isaac ducks his head to hide the smirk of triumph which always means one of them is going to end up bent over Scott's desk before the night is over.

But as pretty a mental picture that makes, unfortunately you promised your parents you'd be home for dinner tonight, so you say your goodbyes and head home.

 

* * *

 

The house is dark when you get home, and you figure that your parents went out for some last minute grocery shopping before dinner. You drop your purse in your room and consider taking a shower, but change your mind decide to raid the freezer for some ice cream instead. You've almost lost all the weight, you can have ice cream once and a while.

You shouldn't have changed your mind. You shouldn't have come back down the stairs. You shouldn't have gone into the kitchen. But you did.

“Hello, Allison,” a short woman says in slightly accented English. She's leaning against your kitchen counter next to the microwave. Across from her are two large men in dark jackets, standing over your parents, gagged and tied to the chairs of your kitchen table.

Your father makes a furious noise and struggles against his bonds, eyes panicked even in the dim light from your back porch. You stare at him and your mother, heart pounding rapidly in your ears.

What is this? you think. What is...this cannot be happening.

“We have a couple questions for you,” the woman says, stepping forward and your head jerks in her direction. You stare at her blankly, unable to comprehend how exactly she is in your house. And she look...she looks familiar. “Why don't you sit down?”

Where do you know her from? you wonder. Why is she in your house? Why does she have your parents tied to-!

One of the men suddenly lashes out, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you over to the kitchen table. He pulls out a chair away from the kitchen table into the middle of the room, and shoves you into it, so hard you almost topple over.

“Now this can go easy,” the woman says very calmly, stepping forward to stand directly in front of you. “Or this can go hard.” She crouches down a little in front of you so that your faces are level and you recognize the hard look in her eyes. She's one of the Mexican hunters that came for Gerard's funeral. The Calaveras? “Where is the True Alpha?”

You stare at her in horror, shock bleeding away into pure terror. Your entire body feels hot, your heart beating furiously in your chest. She know. She _knows_. How could she, who told her, why does she have your parent tied to chai-

She snaps her fingers right in front of your face, shocking you out of your panicked thoughts. “Where is the True Alpha, huh?” she repeats harshly, looking at you in disgust. “I'm only going to ask you one more time and then we go hard.” She gestures at her two men. “Where is he? Who is he?”

Why are you doing this? you think, eyes welling up with tears, breathing heavily. The sound is very loud in the dark room and it doesn't relieve the panicked knot in your chest at all. Why do you want Scott? Please don't hurt me, please don't, please don't, please don't.

You say nothing.

“Oh, mija,” the woman says mockingly as your breaths become shorter and more panicked. “You should really respond when someone asks you a question.”

She slaps you, hard, hard enough that your head swivels to the right and white hot pain laces down your cheek.

You look back at her in shock and she slaps you two more times in quick succession

You feel dizzy, stupidly, your cheek burning, but your breath has evened out.

“Where is the True Alpha?” she repeats, looking at you disdainfully. “Come on now, Allison, this is only going to get harder.”

Her two men shift next to your parents, who are struggling furiously against their bonds to no avail. You don't dare look at their faces.

She's going to torture you, you realize. She's going to hit you, punch you, break your bones, rip off your fingernails, burn you, cut you, _anything_ if you don't give her Scott. You start breathing panicky again, gripping the arms of the chairs tightly because this can't be happening to you. You can't be here, this is a nightmare, Allison, wake up, please, wake up, oh God, no, you can't do this, you don't want to hurt, you don't want to die-

“Alright, take her,” the woman says in annoyance, stepping back.

The two men reach for you and you scramble out of the chair even though you know it's hopeless. One of them shoves you back in and the other punches you in the jaw, sending the chair crashing back into the marble counter and the back of your head with it.

Someone says something, but you can't hear it over your own sobs of pain, and you shriek with fear as hands grab you and ropes are wrapped around your forearms, securing you to your chair.

You look up with unfocused eyes at the woman's cruel expression as she observes you and only then taste the blood welling up in your mouth, your jaw in the worst pain you've ever felt, worse even than when you broke your arm when you were twelve.

“Where is the True Alpha?” she repeats, crossing her arms over her chest imperiously.

In the movies, this is the part where you'd spit blood in her face, swear furiously that you'd never tell her, that she could do whatever she wanted to you, but you would never betray his trust.

You're too terrified to do that, arms shaking helplessly and you pull against the ropes, too scared even to cry.

“Where is he, huh?” she says, reaching forward to grab your jaw. You cry out in pain at her grip and struggle to get away, but she's stronger than she looks.

Don't say a word, you think, eyes fixing on your mother's coffee maker on the far side of the counter. Don't say a word, Allison, not one thing. If you start talking you might not be able to stop, so just don't say anything. You are not allowed to say anything. No matter what they do, how they hurt you, you cannot give them Scott. They will kill him. They might not kill you.

She lets you go and glares down at you, clearly expecting an answer.

You look down at the floor, trying to get a hold of yourself and take a deep breath, closing your eyes. Not a word, you think, trying to calm yourself. _Not a word_.

You open your eyes and continue to take deep calming breaths, eyes front and aimed at nothing in particular. You say nothing.

The woman's face contorts in rage and she only has to raise her hand and split second later one of her men, the shorter one with the buzzcut, punches you right in the nose.

You hear it crack and you scream with pain, almost over balancing in your seat. Hot blood pours down your face and neck and you sag in your seat, sobbing in fear and pain, because oh, God, you can't do this, you can't, you can't, you can't-

He hits you again, this time in the jaw again, and you grip the arms of the chairs to brace yourself, willing yourself to just pass out, just make it stop.

There's a muffled yelling from your parents when your ears stop ringing and you hear the woman say something in Spanish.

You look up dazedly to see the gags being ripped off your parents' faces, so white against their surroundings and they choke for air.

“Araya, stop this!” your father gasps, looking at you with such pain on his face he's almost unrecognizable. “I told you she doesn't know anything!”

“And I told you you were mistaken,” Araya replies, like a mother chastening her wayward child.

“You let her go,” your mother snarls, her jaw so tight you're surprised she can speak at all. “You let her go and you _run_ , because I'm going to kill you. You let her go, don't you dare touch my daughter, you filthy animals!”

Araya jerks her head in your direction and her other henchmen uppercuts you in the stomach. You pitch forward, choking in pain, unable to get air in your lungs, and the floor spins beneath you, blood dripping down your nose and splattering onto the tile.

You hear yelling and screaming, but you can't make out the words. Are they going to kill you if you don't tell them? you wonder in the small part of your brain not overwhelmed by pain. Are they going to kill you in front of your parents, oh, God, you don't want to die, you don't want to do this. Stop, you think, gasping for breath, please, stop, I can't, please don't. A piece of a tooth falls out of your mouth on your next breath, hitting the tile with a sharp crack.

“Look at your daughter, Christopher,” Araya says contemptuously, dragging you upright by your hair and forcing you to look at them. You close your eyes against the tears that have started streaming down your face, mixing with the blood, but mostly so you don't have to see their fear. “She hasn't said a word since this all started. Not a single word. Armed intruders tie her and her parents up, beat her, speaking of alphas and werewolves and she hasn't said a single word. Look, even now, she's not confused, not asking questions, not begging for her life.” She throws you back into the chair and you can't stop the sob that escapes your bloody mouth. “Look at her! All this time, under your own roof, and you never realized? How pathetic.”

Another blow to your stomach and your father screams. “Araya, stop, leave her alone, I'm begging you!”

“Where is the True Alpha?” Araya repeats.

No, no, no, no,no, you think, forcing yourself to look down at your broken tooth on the floor. Not a word, Allison, not a word, not a word, not a word, notawordnotawordnotaword-

“Severo, break her fingers,” Araya says sharply, and you snap your head up to protest, but it's too late, because the taller one with the mustache holds down your right forearm and snaps your pointer finger backwards.

You scream in pain and lurch out of your seat, causing the chair to tip, but the other man grabs it and holds it in place.

“Araya!” your mother shouts. “Don't you touch her, don't you touch her!”

You sag in your seat and sob, pain lancing up your arm. A crash startles you and you look up to see that your father has caused his chair to unbalance in his bid to escape, face contorted in rage.

Araya says something in Spanish and the shorter man rights him.

“You stupid man,” Araya says dispassionately. “You have no idea who she is, do you? What she's done. She has betrayed you in every way imaginable, dishonored her family. Murdered your father.”

Despite the pain you're in, her words still manage to chill you and you look up at her automatically in horror.

“What?” your father says harshly, looking at Araya in bewilderment. “What are you talking about? You're crazy!”

“She's insane!” your mother spits, shaking with rage, though she's more composed than your father. “You're pathetic, Araya! If you want us then fine, but leave my daughter out of it!”

“Look at her!” Araya demands loudly, pointing at you with a jab of her finger. “Look at her face. She's not even denying it!”

Your parents look, disbelief all over their faces and you feel your face contort in a sob and you close your eyes, unable to bear their gaze.

“You never could figure out who killed your father,” Araya says harshly. “None of it made any sense. Who would have come to your town with a sniper rifle to shoot him from a rooftop while you fought wolves? A hunter? No, that is not our way. The answer has been under your roof the whole time!”

The taller man emphasizes her point with a backhand to the face, sending you crashing over onto the floor.

“ARAYA!” your father shouts furiously as you try to curl up in a ball on the floor. Everything hurts. Why does it hurt? You don't want to do this anymore, you can't, you want to be strong, but you can't, you're not, you're so afraid-

You're dragged up again and a hand clamps around your middle finger before you can even struggle.

When he snaps it it hurts just as much, but you don't have the energy to scream anymore, just writhe silently in pain.

“NO!” your mother screams. “NO! Allison! Stop it, don't you touch her!”

“I'm going to kill you!” your father shouts at the same time. “You leave her alone, you leave her alone right n-”

Araya says something in Spanish again and then the gags come out again. You watch dazedly, horrified somehow, despite all you've been through tonight, as your parents are forced into submission and silenced.

“There we go,” Araya says with a cold smile, looking at your parents pleasantly. “Much better.”

They both let out muffled sounds of rage behind the gags, tears pooling in their eyes and you're so tired you close your eyes and try to pretend that there's a way out of this, as long as you hold on long enough. It doesn't work. You're going to die, you're going to die, you're going to die...

“It's really quite a pity,” Araya says, turning back to you. “You're very brave. You've certainly raised a strong one here, Christopher. Only you should have made sure she ended up on the right side. This is what happens when you lie to your children.” She crouches down in front of you to look at her face and you want to vomit at the admiring look on her face. “You could have been something, mija. Like your aunt, but with far more self-control. It is really quite a pity that it's come to this. But you are going to tell me who the True Alpha is.”

I won't, you think, desperate to convince yourself of it. I won't, I won't.

“I could have them hit you some more, but eventually you'll pass out and I really don't have time for that now,” she continues, looking at you speculatively. “What if I had them rape you? Would you talk then?”

You whimper with fear and push yourself back in your seat as far as you can go. Your eyes dart up automatically to Araya's men, both of whom are looking down at Araya in disgust, and you feel yourself begin to hyperventilate. No, no, no, you can't, you think, pressing your knees together and trying to melt back into the seat, no, no, no please.

“Shhh,” she says gently and reaches out to unbutton your blue checkered shirt. Tears pour down your cheeks and you let out a broken sob, futilely trying to break free of your bonds. Distantly, you hear your parents screaming behind their gags and rattling around in their chairs, but you can't think about anything past the cold air on your increasingly exposed skin.

“There,” Araya says, pushing your shirt down your shoulders and looks at you expectantly. “This is your last chance. Where is the True Alpha?”

No, God, oh, please, oh, please, don't, you think, shaking with fear, but it won't do any good, you know that. You _know_ that. You shut your eyes and bite your lip, even though it hurts. There is nothing you can do. This is happening. Don't say a word, don't say a word, just go something else, Allison, that's all you can do, you don't have a choice anymore.

You feel like you're going to vomit, your entire body hurts, your face, your stomach, your finger, and now they are going to rape you, both of them, and you don't have a choice. You can't get out of here this is happening, you have no choi-

“Where is he?” Araya shouts, reaching forward, and rips your bra off, the metal hooks scrapping your sides harshly.

You let go out a sob and hunch over as far as you can, squeezing your eyes shut. Don't think, don't think, don't think, don't say a word, this is happening, this has already happened, it doesn't matter, go somewhere else, just go somewhere else, this is the way this has to be, you don't have a choice. You grip the arms of the chair and utter a soft cry of pain as you move your broken fingers. Don't think, don't think, don't think.

“Tch,” Araya says, straightening. “You're stronger than you look, mija, I'll give you that.”

Don't look, you tell yourself, staring down at the floor. Don't look, Allison, don't you dare look.

It's done, you tell yourself, it's already done, but you can't stop yourself from gasping for breath and squeezing your thighs together, as close as they can go.

“It really is a pity,” Araya says, rustling something together, but you don't look up until you hear the cock of a gun.

“So we're going to do it this way,” Araya says, holding the barrel of the gun inches away from your father's forehead. “Now one more time: Where is the True Alpha?”

This isn't supposed to happen, you think as you stare at your father's shocked expression, the absolute terror in your mother's eyes. This isn't supposed to, why is she-

“Allison,” she says impatiently, clenching her teeth. “Do you want me to kill your father?” She turns the gun on your mother. “Or your mother?”

You open your mouth, to say what you don't know, beg for mercy maybe, and then the backdoor that leads to the patio bursts open in an explosion of broken glass.

A dark figure lands on the carpet of your family room and straightens, red eyes glowing brightly in the dark.

Scott, you think desperately, relief soaring through you. _Scott._ He's here to save you, to stop them.

Scott takes one look at you, and then swivels to face the hunters, expression dark with rage. He roars in fury and lashes out at the shorter hunter, throwing him into the wall so hard the plaster breaks. The one with the mustache draws his gun, but before he can aim it at Scott there's a crash from the front hall. A second later Derek Hale comes barreling down the hall into the kitchen, claws and fangs extended. The hunter shoots, but misses and Derek throws him into the kitchen sink. Araya fires at Scott, hitting him in the shoulder, but before she can fire again, she's punched in the face by Cora.

"Stay down," she hisses, kicking her fallen gun across the room.

Someone grabs your arm and you jerk away automatically, but it's just Isaac, ripping away your bonds with his claws.

"Allison," he gasps, white as a sheet, crouching in front of you, and reaching out to touch the side of your face with the pads of his fingers.

Are you really here? you wonder dazedly, unable to process what's happening, everything is going too fast, you don't understand-

"Allison!" he says when you don't respond, terrified and desperate. His eyes skate over your bloody half-naked form, and he lets out a piteous whimper, stripping off his denim jacket with difficulty, his hands shaking violently. He wraps it around you carefully and zips it up, your arms secured inside instead of sticking through the arm holes. Over his shoulder you see Scott lunge at Araya, only to be dragged back by Derek at the last second.

"Scott, stop, you need to think," Derek tells him urgently, but Scott shows no signs of listening, struggling inexpertly in his hold.

"Let me go," Scott demands tightly. His face is completely transformed, eyes glowing eerily in the dark, fixed furiously on Araya slumped against your kitchen counter in a steadily increasing pool of water from the broken sink, bleeding slightly from her temple. Her two men are unconscious, and she's completely unarmed, but she still manages to look at Scott without fear.

"So it's you," she says, pushing herself up into a seated position, brow furrowed in disbelief. "You're a child."

"You...You, what did you do-" Scott spits through his fangs, so angry he can barely speak, still trying to fight his way towards her. "How dare you touch her, I'll-"

"Derek, what about them?" Cora interrupts, gesturing to your parents, who are still struggling and glaring at Derek, clearly demanding to be let free.

"Untie them," Derek says shortly, without looking away from Scott. "Scott, get a hold of yourself!"

"What is this?" your father demands the second Cora removes his gag. He looks between Scott and Derek, and Isaac kneeling in front of you. Isaac is touching your forearms, the back of your neck, your left cheek with shaky hands; you can tell he wants to hug you, but is afraid of hurting you.

"Get away from her," your mother orders Isaac, jerking impatiently in her seat as Cora warily frees her.

You turn away from her, crumpling at the reality that they _know_ now, that this is all over. Exhaustion overwhelms you all of the sudden, and you slump forward, leaning your cheek on Isaac's shoulder even though the tiniest movement hurts.

"Allison!" your father chokes, and you hear him scrambling out of his chair. You stiffen and lean further into Isaac, afraid he's going to take you away.

"Back off!" Isaac snarls, wrapping his arms around you carefully in a protective embrace. Your forehead presses up against his neck, right above the collar of his green t-shirt, and you inhale the smell of his deodorant (Scott's) and sweat.

"Wha-get away from my daughter!"

"Oh, no, you don't, you've done enough!" Scott says furiously.

"What are you talking about?" your mother demands, sounding nearly hysterical, and it terrifies you. "Don't you touch her!"

"Of course you don't know," Scott says, disgusted. "No, you don't!" You hear him walk closer to stand in front of Isaac. "You have done enough! Isaac, Cora, take her to the hospital. The rest of you are staying here!"

There is a brief pause, and then your parents both start to protest. They get louder as Isaac lifts you carefully into his arms and you whimper in pain, and you hear something smash on the floor.

"Wait," you say hoarsely as Isaac turns to leave the room, the first words you've spoken since you left Lydia's house a lifetime ago. The sound reminds you of something. "My tooth."

You worm your left hand out of the bottom of the jacket and point back to the small pool of blood below the chair you were tied to.

The entire room goes deathly silent, and then Cora walks over to the chair and bends down to pick up your bloody tooth.

Then Isaac is carrying you down the hallway and there's yelling, but you block it out and press your face harder into Isaac's shoulder.

 

* * *

 

You don't really remember the ride to the hospital in Derek's car. Isaac tries to talk to you, ask you questions, but it's too much work to understand him, much less answer him. You're so tired.

Then he's bringing you into the hospital and there's bright lights and so many people talking. You try to hide in Isaac's shoulder, but they take you from him to a curtained off bed, and then take off your jacket, examining your purpling abdomen. You space out for a while, very numb even though the painkillers you swallowed can't be taking effect yet. But then they start asking you questions, about the police, about Isaac, if you're afraid of him, and you don't want to talk, you want them to stop. You vomit all over one nurse's shoes when she asks if you want them to get a rape kit.

They stop asking you questions then.

Some time later, you're not sure how long, you're alone, staring up at the hospital ceiling, listening to the bustle of the hospital unseen beyond the curtain. They put something on your nose, gauze in your mouth, and wrapped up your broken fingers. You're wearing a white hospital gown, which you don't remember them putting on you, but thankfully they didn't take your pants. They're wet, though. You must have wet yourself somewhere in the middle of...it.

You sit up, wincing at the strain on your stomach, but it's muted a bit. You carefully swing your legs off the bed, shuddering as your bare feet touch the cold floor.

Every instinct screams at you to curl back into bed and hide under the covers, but you know you aren't safe here.

You limp towards the curtain and push it aside to see a large room full of other beds, nurses and doctors darting quickly from patient to patient.

"Miss," a nurse with short blonde hair says when you head for the door. "Miss, you need to get back in bed."

"Where's my boyfriend?" you ask awkwardly through the cotton in your mouth.

Something in her expression tightens. "I don't know, but please get back into bed. Someone will be with you shortly to take you to get some x-rays."

"Is Melissa McCall here?" you ask next, panic starting to rise up in your chest.

She gives an odd look. "No, she's not working tonight. Now please get back into bed."

"Can I see my boyfriend?" you ask her shakily, starting to feel lost.

"It's family only right now," she tells you firmly, steering you back to your bed. "I think Emily went to talk to your parents, so they should be here soon."

Emily! Emily Doroshenko?

You let her tuck you back in bed, heart beating a brutal tattoo in your chest. You wait until she leaves and then get out of bed, spitting out the gauze, and peek outside the curtain to see if anyone's watching before you make your escape.

You have to get out of here. It isn't safe.

The hallway is full of hospital staff, so you duck quickly into one of the private room across the hall.

It's occupied, but the elderly black woman in the bed just stares at you blankly as you cross her room to get to the window.

It opens, but there's a screen over it that you have to punch through with your left hand, and then you climb painfully through it and land in the bushes five feet below.

Your entire body screams in protest, but you force yourself to your feet, knowing you don't have much time.

You extricate yourself from the bushes, and walk into the parking lot without any idea of where you're going. It's freezing, and you know you have to get away from people before someone spots your hospital gown and starts asking questions.

"Allison?!" a woman says, and you spin around to see Braeden staring at you on the other side of the parking lot, her motorbike helmet in one hand. "What are you doing, are you okay? I just heard..."

She walks over to you, looking you up and down carefully.

"Hi," you say stupidly. "Could you...do you think you could get me out of here?"

She looks very concerned and opens her mouth, but you cut her off.

"I just really," you say, voice trembling pathetically. "I really need to get out of here. My parents are here, and I can't..." Your voice becomes too tight to finish your sentence without sobbing.

"Do they know?" Braeden asks seriously, and you nod shortly, shivering in the cold December air.

"Okay, we need to get you somewhere inside," Braeden says, gesturing back to her bike. "Where do you want to go?"

"Scott's," you say automatically, because you have always been safe at Scott's house. "His mother's a nurse, she should be there right now."

"Okay," Braeden says, looking dubious, but she seems to understand how little time you have and hands you her helmet.

It's only ten minutes to Scott's house from the hospital, but ride there is so painful it feels twice that. You're dizzy when you finally get off the bike and Braeden has to help you to the door.

"Allison!" Scott's mom exclaims when she opens the door. "What happened?! Come inside!"

Braeden helps you to the couch and Melissa examines your bruised face very professionally before looking down at your bandaged fingers.

"I'm fine, they looked me over at the hospital," you mumble. "I just need somewhere to hide."

"From who?" Scott's mom asks, looking between you and Braeden in confusion. "Allison, what happened?"

"My parents," you whisper, closing your eyes against the prick of tears. "I can't see them right now...they know I...they found out-" You gasp for breath as the reality sets in. The worst has come to pass. They know. They _know_. Oh, God, what are you going to do?

"I'll call Scott," Braeden says quietly. "I'm Braeden, by the way. I'm not sure if Scott's mentioned me."

You don't hear Scott's mom's reply, mind buzzing blankly, and you only snap out of it when Scott's mom helps you to your feet and up the stairs. She takes you to her room, and wraps you up in her blankets, sitting by your side and stroking your hair gently.

You can't sleep. You'd love to, you're so tired, and you want everything to go away, but you keep your eyes fixed on the door while Scott's mom soothes you.

Time passes. Scott's mom stays. You try not to think.

The door downstairs opens and you bolt upright, a whimper of pain tearing itself out of your mouth without your permission. Is it the hunters? Your parents?

"Allison?!" Scott calls desperately, and you clap your hands over your mouth quickly, whimpering.

"Up here, Scott!" his mom calls, but Scott is already thundering up the stairs.

"Allison," he gasps tearfully, bursting into the room with Isaac on his heels. He sits down on at the foot of the bed and reaches out to clutch your shoulders. "How...are you-"

You reach out to touch his sides and lean your bruised face against the side of his. His hands jump up, but then freeze, uncertain if he should touch you.

"I'm okay," you tell him, even though you're really, really not.

Isaac sits down next to you and presses his face into your neck, shaking violently. His eyes are wet and he sniffs audibly.

"You should've told them, Allison," Scott says, a sob in his voice. He reaches up to clutch at the back of your neck, pulling your loose hair slightly with his sweaty palm. "You should've just told them, why did you-"

"So they could come and kill you?" you murmur, even as you realize it doesn't matter. The secret's out now.

Scott sobs, body jolting suddenly. "Don't, oh God, Allison, don't, you shouldn't have..."

Stop, you think, squeezing your eyes shut, stop, stop, stop. You pull away from him and Isaac, who had started crying quietly in your hair.

"I need to-" you say, and then your voice cracks, a sob welling up in your throat. You close your eyes and take several deep breaths before continuing. "I need to lie down."

"Do you want me to get you anything?" Scott's mom asks gently, peering down at your face behind a curtain of wild hair. "Water? Some tea?"

Wine, you think. Red wine. I want to be drunk right now. It would probably make you feel better, relax you.

"Water," you croak, because your mouth tastes terrible from throwing up.

She leaves, and you lie back down on the bed, taking calming breaths. Scott and Isaac both stare at you, and you can't stand it. Why are they looking at you like that? You want them to stop, you want to hide.

You start to panic, gasping for breath. Oh, God, your parents know, you can't do this, you can't feel like this any longer, you want to forget, you want to di-

"Allison, Allison, breathe," Scott says, coming to lie down beside you, clutching your shoulder.

"I can't do this," you gasp, tears filling your eyes. "What am I going to do? I can't live with them anymore. She told them about Gerard, I can't, I can't-"

"Allison, it's going to be okay, I promise, I won't let anything bad happen to you," Scott says, sounding seconds away from shattering. Isaac just clings to your side, shaking like mad.

"I couldn't do anything," you sob, bringing your hands up to cover your face. "I couldn't...she wouldn't stop, they just kept hitting me, I thought I was g-going to die!"

"Allison, it's okay, you're safe now, I promise," Scott says desperately, clutching your shoulder harder.

But it's not okay and it never will be. This will always have happened to you. You will have to remember it the rest of your life, remember being tied to chair, beaten, tortured, stripped, threatened with rape. You cannot erase this from your life. You will never be the same.

"Here, here," Scott says tremulously, you blink slowly as the tightness in your chest fades, and even the dull aches in your stomach, fingers, and face.

"Thanks," you whisper, and roll onto your side facing Isaac, dragging Scott's arm over your waist and pulling him forward to spoon you. Isaac, eyes red and swollen with tears, curl closer to you and continues to sob almost silently into your neck.

"It's going to be okay," Scott swears shakily, pulling the blankets up over you and pressing himself against your back with an arm around your waist. "I promise. They're locked up now. I won't let them hurt you again."

You say nothing, wrapping your arms around Isaac's body and pulling him closer.

The clock on Scott's mom's bedside table reads 8:59.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I really did not like this chapter. Weirdly enough, I was fine writing it, but then going back editing it I was pretty disturbed. I really don't like how a lot of media downplays how traumatizing stuff that happens to their characters is, and I guess this is the result. Please comment?


	25. I've got nothing left to prove

You wake up to the sound of gasping, and for a second, for one blissful second, you don't remember. And then you do.

“Scott, Scott, it's okay,” Isaac murmurs, and you realize he's not lying in front of you anymore.

“She could have died,” Scott chokes out. “They broke her _fingers_ , they took off her shirt, what were they going to- I don't, how could they-” He sobs brokenly and you feel a cold wave run through you.

“I know, I know,” Isaac whispers, and you feel the bed shift. “She's okay, Scott, she's okay.”

“She's not,” Scott sobs. “Did you see what she looked like when we came in? I can't...it's my fault, I should have known-”

“It's not,” Isaac says quickly, sounding scared. “It's not, Scott, please.”

There's a pause and then you hear the soft sound of mouths moving together.

“Isaac,” Scott gasps after a second, and the bed jerks more violently this time. “ _Please_.”

“It's okay, it's okay, it's okay,” Isaac says, though he sounds like he's trying to convince himself just as much as Scott. “Just, Scott, just, please.”

The bed shifts again as they come down next to you, breathing heavily.

“Isaac,” Scott moans, and you hear the sound of clothing being removed. “Can you, can you-”

“Yeah,” Isaac says shakily. “Yeah, we need...I can get...”

“No, it's fine, I need-” Scott says, sounding on the verge of tears.

“Okay, okay,” Isaac says, the bed shifting again. “Okay, turn over.”

Scott does, arm brushing your back and you feel very odd and very empty as you listen to them fuck next to you, in Scott's mother's bed, Scott making soft broken noises into the pillow.

This is a very odd dream, you think to yourself. I'd like to wake up now.

You don't, though. You remain awake the entire time, and when you think they're asleep you roll on your back, wincing in pain at the strain it puts on your stomach.

“Hey,” Scott says, in that same slurred way he always does right after he gets fucked. He scoots over closer to you and balances his chin on your shoulder. He reaches out to touch your arm and after a second the aches in your body fade a little. “Tell me what you're thinking about.”

“My parents will come here eventually,” you tell the ceiling. To be honest, you're surprised they haven't come already.

“I told them to leave you alone,” Scott mumbles, petting your hair absentmindedly.

“They'll come,” you say, certain of it. “They'll come and take me away, and then I'll never see you again.”

“Allison,” Scott says, raising his head and looking down at you firmly. “I will never let that happen.”

“You won't be able to stop it,” you gasp, heart beginning to pound again. “They'll probably blackbag me, take me away in the middle of the night with no trail and-”

“I won't let them touch you, I swear to God,” Scott says, sitting up suddenly and leaning over you, cupping your left cheek carefully.

“You can't always protect me,” you tell him, and even as you say it you hate yourself. You're supposed to be strong, protect yourself. But you guess that was always a pipe dream, because you are just a fragile teenage girl, useless without a gun in your hand.

“I will,” Scott swears earnestly. “I'll always come for you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and want to believe him. You shouldn't, but you want to. You want to feel safe, but you don't think that's possible anymore.

He presses his forehead to your temple and strokes your face gently with his thumb. “I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, but I swea-”

“Don't,” you whisper, not opening your eyes. “It's not your fault! It was me, I was careless, I should have, I should have...been more careful. I was stupid.”

Scott doesn't say anything, just holds you to him until you fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

You wake up around dawn, pain lacing up your belly and fingers. You slip out of Scott's embrace and grimace at the stiff material of your jeans. You desperately need a shower. You smell like piss.

You pad slowly over to Scott's mother's bathroom, inhaling sharply when you shut the door behind you and glimpse your reflection in the mirror. You're even paler than usual and the right side of your face is heavily swollen and dark purple. Your splinted nose is bright red. You swallow and carefully pull off the hospital gown. It take more effort than you think and you have to bite back whimpers of pain as you raise your arms above your head.

Your stomach is even worse than your face. How many times did he even punch you there? you think as you stare at the mottled bruises across your belly. You can't remember. You open your mouth as much as you can, looking around for your broken tooth. It's not hard to find-your left canine. It's shattered. Shit. Cora picked it up, right? Can they glue it back together or something?

You start to feel sick looking at yourself, so you turn away and push down your jeans and underwear carefully, letting gravity do most of the work for you. You turn on the shower and stand under the hot spray of water, but you can't work up the energy to reach for the soap or shampoo. You can't see how you're going to clean yourself properly with one hand, and it seems like too much work to think of the best way to do it.

So you just stand there, staring at the tile wall, wondering all the ways you could have gotten out of last night. Could you have run the second you saw them in the kitchen, gotten out of the house and driven away? Or maybe you should have gone upstairs to the bag of guns in your closet and killed them all. Or grabbed one of their guns out of there hands. Kicked them, punched them, just _anything_ not to have been so _weak_.

“Allison?” Isaac says from the bathroom door.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. The air is very hot and humid. You look down at see that your skin is bright red, that your fingers have started to prune. How long have you been in here?

“Allison?” Isaac says again.

You swallow and tell yourself to be strong.

“Can you come in here?” you whisper.

Isaac opens the door immediately, and pushes aside the shower curtain. “Shit, Allison!” he says, eyes widening with shock, and reaches for the shower handle. “It's too hot!”

He turns down the temperature, and then after a pause strips off his shirt and boxers and steps inside the shower. He puts his hands on your shoulders and looks down at you worriedly, reaching up to smooth back your wet hair.

“Hey, is that supposed to get wet?” he asks, looking down at your bandaged fingers.

You shrug wordlessly.

“C'mere,” he murmurs, pulling you into his arms and kissing the top of your head.

“Can you...can you get the shampoo?” you ask quietly, leaning your forehead against his shoulder.

He uncaps Scott's mother's coconut-scented shampoo and massages it through your hair way too gently. He grabs her bar of Dove soap next, working up a lather and carefully smoothing the bubbles down your sides, ducking down to get your legs.

And suddenly, like a chick flick cliché, you start sobbing.

Isaac bolts upright immediately and pulls you into his arms. “Allison, Allison, it's okay, it's okay.”

“I'm so stupid,” you sob messily into his shoulder. “I'm so stupid, and weak, I couldn't do anything, I've never felt so helpless in my life, I couldn't, I couldn't- I thought I could be, but I'm not-”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Isaac says, sounding terrified. “No, Allison, you did good, you did good, and you're safe now, Scott and I won't let anything happen to you.”

But it already happened to you, and nothing can change that. And now your parents know, know what you did to Gerard. You can't go home and you have no idea what you're going to do.

“You did good, you did good,” Isaac keeps saying, but you didn't. You were weak and now your parents know about Scott.

You kept your mouth shut, you let them hit you, break your nose, your fingers, strip you half-naked, but it didn't mean a thing. It was all for nothing. They know now, about Scott, and you have no idea what they will do with that information.

Crying so hard hurts, though, now that the pain medication they gave you at the hospital has worn off, and you force yourself to regain your calm. Isaac finishes washing you off and then dries you off with one of Scott's mom's fluffy blue towels with bleach stains on it.

“Hey,” Scott says when you come out, looking up from where he's stripping off the sheets of his mother's bed. “You okay?”

You nod shortly, and cast your eyes down to the floor, not wanting look at him, and tighten your grip on the towel with your good hand. “Can I borrow something to wear?” you mutter.

“Yeah! Yeah,” Scott says. “Here, I can...I can wash your clothes too.”

He sounds embarrassed. Because he and Isaac had sex right next to you last night? You don't really care about that.

You follow him to his room, and Scott hands you a t-shirt and a pair of his mother's pajama pants.

“Underwear?” you ask, raising your eyebrows at him.

“Uh,” Scott says, looking awkward. “I'm not really comfortable with going through my mother's underwear drawer...”

You smile, but stop immediately because it hurts your face. “Just give me a pair of your boxer briefs,” you tell him.

“Okay,” Scott says, rooting through his dresser drawer before handing you the pair of black boxer briefs that, if you're being totally honest, make his ass look amazing. “Do you, do you need help?”

You look away and shake your head jerkily. “No, I got it,” you say, and then go into his bathroom to change.

“Allison, you okay?” Scott asks after two minutes go by and you're still trying to ease the t-shirt over your head.

“Mmhm,” you say tightly. “Where is your mom anyway?”

“At work,” he says. “But she...she left a note asking us to bring you back to the hospital.”

A cold rush of fear goes through you and you freeze.

“Allison, it's okay!” Scott says quickly, sensing your panic. “We just, we really need to get your fingers x-rayed. And she said your ribs might be broken.”

Yeah, that explains a lot, you think bitterly.

“We'll make sure...there's no one waiting for you before we go in, okay?” Scott reassures you, sounding anxious. “And get you some pain medication.”

And, _sold_.

Scott's mom took the car, so Scott takes you on his bike, while Isaac runs ahead to meet you there. You protest that you can totally walk yourself, but Scott insists on carrying you inside, and you feel kind of ridiculous with everyone staring at you.

They x-ray your fingers and your chest, but nothing shows up on the chest x-ray. Your bottom two ribs on your left side are probably still broken, but just fractured slightly, which is a far better scenario than the alternative. Your fingers are put in a bright blue cast without much fuss, but your jaw is much more problematic. It's broken as well and after a brief scare where they discuss wiring it shut, they eventually decide it isn't bad enough and just refer you to a oral surgeon and advise you to drink only soft foods and liquids until then. Your ribs and nose will heal on their own after six weeks, so they just give you antibiotics for those.

It's after lunch by the time you're finally released, dizzy on pain medication, and Scott and Isaac take you home and feed you mashed potatoes and a strawberry banana smoothie, and ice your jaw. You're pretty out of it from the medication and are perfectly content to sit on the couch (still in Scott's lap as he's very reluctant to relinquish you) and watch bad daytime TV for a couple hours.

At some point in the afternoon Lydia and Stiles come over, and Lydia wraps her arms around you and assures you that she can cover up the bruises when the swelling goes down and that she'll do all your homework for you until you can come back to school while Scott and Stiles talk quietly in the kitchen.

“Really, it'll be fine,” Lydia says, stroking your hair, but she's very pale and sounds terrified. “We have the Sheriff on our side and my dad's a lawyer. We can drag litigation out until you're eighteen and you'll just stay with me from now on, okay?”

“Okay,” you slur, not at all confident in that plan. Like your parents would be stopped by the law.

So you're not particularly surprised when they show up halfway through Scott and Isaac making dinner.

“You are _not_ coming through this door!” Scott yells from the front hallway while you cower in Lydia's arms in the corner of the couch.

“Get out of the way, you will _not_ keep us from our daughter!” your mother shouts back, and you flinch reflexively because your mother shouting has never meant good things for you.

“You have one chance to step aside or we will use force,” your father says furiously.

“Oh, you know what, you can bring it!” Isaac says, a growl in his voice. “I don't care how many guns you have, we are not letting you near her again!”

“We're her parents!”

“Some parents,” Scott says, and you've never heard such disgust in his voice before. “She's _terrified_ of you. You don't get to see her right now. You need to leave.”

There's a scuffle and you stiffen in fear as you see Stiles, who has been hanging back watching from the end of the hallway, fumble with his phone.

“Get your hands off hi-” you hear Isaac yell, but he's cut short by another voice.

“What the hell is going on here?!”

Oh, God, you think in horror as Stiles mutters to his dad to get over here _right now_. You know that voice. It's Scott's father.

“Who the hell are you, get your hands off my son!”

“Your son,” your father says, voice shaking with anger, “has _kidnapped_ our daughter!”

“What?” Scott's father says, sounding bewildered.

“She doesn't want to go with you,” Isaac says angrily. “You leave her alone!”

“Alright, everyone calm down,” Scott's father orders. “What is going on?”

“Stay out of this, it doesn't invo-”

“Isaac, enough,” Scott interrupts. “Dad, I'll explain later. _You_ need to leave now. Allison is fine, but she doesn't want to see you.”

“And we should just take your word for it?” your mother snarls. “What have you done with her, where is she? Allison! Allison, come out here, right now!”

There's another scuffle and three people shouting, and Stiles stumbles backwards as your parents barrel into the living room, Scott and Isaac on their heels.

They both freeze when they spot you, eyes going wide at your injuries, and you shrink back into the couch as far as you can, too exhausted to think about running.

Lydia drops the ice pack she was holding to your jaw and leaps to her feet to stand in front of you, fists clenched at her side. “Get out!” she says, voice rising to a painful pitch.

“Allison, you need to come with us right now,” your father says, though he speaks slower than normal, his expression still stunned. Beside him, your mother just looks at you in horror.

“No, she doesn't! Get out of my house!” Scott yells, pushing past them to stand in front of Lydia. “You have done enough!”

“You will not keep her from us!” your mother shouts.

“Just you try and touch her!” Isaac snarls from behind your parents.

Your mother whirls around to reply and a jolt of fear runs through you, but Scott's father enters the room before she can say or do anything.

“Alright, that's enough!” he says loudly, startling everyone. He's holding a cardboard box with a lamp in it and sets it down on the floor next to the wall. “What the hell is going on here?”

“This doesn't concern you,” your father says after a pause, voice low with suppressed rage, and you try to look under his jacket to see if he's armed. You think he is. “We're just here for our daughter and then we'll go.”

Scott's father glances at you and his jaw tightens, the same way Scott's does when he's angry. “How did she get those injuries?” he asks slowly.

No one replies.

“Allison, get up,” your mother says, turning to you. “We're going home.”

“No, I don't think so,” Scott's father says sharply, crossing his arms over his chest. “I think you need to go.”

They all start yelling at each other then, Scott's father demanding that your parents leave and you feel sick, because _God_ , even Scott's asshole deadbeat dad thinks your parents are crazy. You hear the faint strains of police sirens, and you can't stand it, so you slip off the couch and run into the kitchen and out the other door to the front hallway, climbing the stairs quickly behind them. Upon reaching the second floor you can't figure out what to do, where to go, and climb into the linen closet at the end of the hallway and sit down under the shelves of towels, shutting yourself in the dark. You press your hands over your ears, but you can still hear yelling, and you find yourself rocking back and forth to distract yourself.

After a while, it fades, but you don't dare get out for fear they're going to be standing right there outside the door, and you gasp loudly as the door opens.

“Hey,” Isaac says, looking down at you worriedly. “They're gone.”

You make a noncommittal noise and turn away from him, letting your hair fall forward to hide the side of your face closest to him.

“Are you, are you going to come out?” Isaac asks carefully.

You shake your head jerkily, looking down at your knees. The idea of leaving your sanctuary makes you want to scream, even though you know a linen closet is not going to protect you. Nothing will protect you. You could go anywhere and they'd still find you. You wish you could just disappear.

After a moment of hesitation, Isaac crouches down and crawls in too, leaning up against the other wall across from you with his knees as close to his chest as he can get them to fit. You reach out and pull the door shut, feeling comforted by the barrier between you and the rest of the world.

Isaac inhales sharply. “So, Stiles's dad and Scott's dad made them leave,” he says, sounding incredibly nervous. “Said they'd arrest them for forced entry.”

You say nothing.

“Scott's trying to explain to his dad what's going on now,” he continues nervously, swallowing audibly and shifting around uncomfortably. “Something about loan sharks beating you up.”

You lean forward and rest your forehead on your knees. You don't want to think about that right now. You don't want to think about anything. You want to stop feeling like this, stop feeling so afraid of being attacked at any second. It's only been twenty-four hours, but you don't think you can do this for much longer. You'll explode. You'll die.

“Allison?” Isaac says, reaching for your hand hesitantly. “Can you... can we just-”

“I can't do this,” you gasp. “I can't do it. I can't keep feeling like this. It has to stop, but I don't know how, I don't know how to-”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Isaac says desperately, hands shaking against yours. “Tell me what you want me to do. I can-I can-”

He shudders and you feel your eyes fill with tears. Why is this happening to you? Why can't you stop it?

The door flies open and you cry out in shock, pressing yourself further against the wall. Scott crouches down in front of the both you, looking between the two of you in concern. “Hey, hey, it's okay,” he tells you, and then turns to Isaac. “Are you-”

“Gimme a second,” Isaac gasps and practically leaps out of the closet. You stare at him in shock as he runs down the hall to the bathroom, eyes widening when you hear dry-heaving.

“What?” you say, looking to Scott in confusion.

“I-” Scott says, looking towards the bathroom and then back towards you. “Just stay right here, okay?”

He stands and rushes down the hall to the bathroom. “Hey, hey, Isaac, it's okay,” you hear him say as Isaac gags more. “It's okay, just breathe.”

You climb out of the closet, distracted from your own panic and turn to look at it in confusion, unsure why Isaac's freaking out abo-

Oh. He's claustrophobic after his dad...

You walk over to the bathroom and lean against the doorframe, looking down at Scott rubbing Isaac's back, looking like he's going to start vomiting himself. Hey, you wanted a distraction.

“Hey, Allison,” Lydia says, coming up the stairs. “We're done with dinner. Do you...do you wanna come down?”

You're not really hungry, but Scott says. “Yeah, go ahead, I got this.”

So you go downstairs and have possibly the most awkward dinner of your life with Lydia, Stiles, and Scott's dad. Eventually Scott and Isaac come down, both looking exhausted, but you keep zoning out during Stiles's terrible conversation starters and thinking about ropes slithering up your arms and tying you to Scott's kitchen table chair.

But you force yourself to sit through it until Scott's mother comes home from work and everyone else goes home.

“Hey, how are you doing?” she asks you after you come out of the upstairs bathroom, peering at you closely. “How's your pain?”

“It's okay,” you say, attempting a smile. “Thank you for everything, letting me stay here, and at the hospital...”

You know your hospital stay would have been a lot longer, with many more questions about insurance and the circumstances of your injuries if it hadn't been for her.

“Hey, no problem,” she says, reaching out to squeeze your arm. “Stay as long as you like.”

“Nuh uh, I can't,” you say, shaking your head and scratching it distractedly. “I think, I think I have to leave, I need to, just for two months, maybe, until I'm eighteen. I'm not sure how I...I have money and this bag with clothes and stuff in it I keep in my closet just in case, I'll have to figure out how to get it, but-

“What, Allison, no,” Scott's mom says, looking shocked and confused. “Where would you even, no, listen to me, you're going to stay here, okay?”

“I can't, I can't,” you tell her hoarsely, feeling your throat tighten up with emotion. She's too nice, why is she so nice? “My parents are going to come back and they'll-”

“We'll deal with them,” Melissa says firmly, dark brown curls swaying forward as she steps a little closer. “I don't want you to worry about anything, okay, honey? Just relax and let us take care of this, okay?”

I have no idea how to do that, you think, staring at her blankly.

“Oh, sweetheart, it'll be alright,” she says and hugs you. You're not really sure what to do and awkwardly put your hands on her sides in return. You haven't been hugged by an adult since you were a child.

“Hey, mom,” Scott says quietly, coming up the stairs. “The dishes are done.”

Melissa lets go of you and turns to Scott. “Thanks. Do you need anything else?” she asks you. You shake your head and she smiles wearily. “Alright, I'm going to do to bed. Just knock on my door if you need anything. You have your medication?”

“Yeah, I think it's downstairs,” you say.

“I got it!” Isaac calls.

“Okay, good night,” she says gently. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

She goes into her room and Scott steps onto the landing, reaching out to pull you into his arms, leaning his forehead against yours.

“We are going to make this okay,” he tells you firmly. “You don't have to run away or be afraid, okay? All of us are behind you.”

“I know, I know,” you say, because you do, intellectually, but you can't help how you feel. “I just...I can't stop thinking about it. I just keep...remembering, and I don't want to, I just keep thinking that I should've been able to get out of it to stop it-I just...I need a distraction, I need to stop thinking.”

“Okay, okay, we'll figure something out,” Scott says, rubbing his hands up and down your upper arms.

“Do you...do you want to have sex?” Isaac asks dubiously, walking up the stairs with your pain medication and a glass of water, glancing at Melissa's closed door.

Scott gives him an alarmed look, but you snort with laughter despite yourself. “I would, but I don't think I can...my ribs...I'm not supposed to exercise.”

“How about a movie?” Scott asks, taking you by the hand and leading you to his room. “Something we haven't seen before.”

“Okay,” you say bracingly, unsure if it'll work, but knowing it's probably a better idea that taking more painkillers and washing them down with alcohol, which is what you've wanted to do since dinner.

Scott and Isaac finally decide on Little Miss Sunshine, after reading through the entire summary on their phones to ascertain there aren't any violent scenes in it. You sit between them with Scott's battered laptop on your lap and try very hard to concentrate on the plot. It sort of works; it's funny and there are scenes where you manage to forget your own life. When it's over, Scott and Isaac curl themselves around you protectively to sleep. You wish Scott's bed was further away from the window, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the most challenging parts of writing the end of this fic (only three more chapters, can you believe it?) was getting into Chris and Victoria's heads. I wanted to avoid making them cardboard cutout villains and be true to their characters in canon, while still acknowledging how terrible they are (which the show seems to have completely forgotten about.) I hope I'm able to get that across in these last few chapters, but we'll see what you think. Please comment!


	26. Cause I've got nothing left to lose

You wake up in pain. Your jaw and fingers are throbbing and you whimper in pain when you try to sit up and realize that Scott's lying on top of you. You ease out from under him and stumble to the bathroom, grabbing your painkillers off his bedside table. You fumble with the cap and nearly spill the white pills into the sink in your desperation to get at them. After swallowing two with difficulty, you open your mouth carefully to look at your broken tooth. You didn't brush your teeth and you mouth tastes terrible as a result, but you're worried it will make your injuries worse.

The painkillers don't kick in right away of course, so you pace around Scott's small bathroom, nauseous and desperate for some sort of relief. The radio clock reads 2:28 and you stare at it desperately, as if that will make time go faster. You start to feel dizzy after a while and sit down on the toilet seat, rocking back and forth while you try to breathe shallowly to avoid irritating your ribs.

"Allison?" Scott says, turning on the bathroom light and rubbing his eyes tiredly. They widen when he takes in your pained state. "Jesus, you okay?"

He comes to kneel in front of you, looking into your face worriedly.

"Wore off," you grunt, continuing to rock back and forth. He grips your arms right under the hem of your sleeves and you sag in relief when the pain fades, black lines traveling quickly up his arms before fading.

"Ouch," Scott says, wincing, and then wipes off your sweaty brow with the back of his forearm. "What is it, your ribs?"

"Mouth," you mumble, trying to open your mouth as little as possible while you speak. "I need to make an appointment with that oral surgeon when the swelling goes down. Do you think...do you think they can glue my tooth back in? Cora has it."

"I think they fill in the broken part with something else," Scott says, still holding onto your shoulders. "Allison, is there anything you want me to get you? Water?"

You shake your head. "Talk," you tell him. "Just tell me something?"

"Uh, okay, what do you want me to talk about?" he asks, reaching back to shut the bathroom door behind him.

"Anything," you say. "I need a distraction." From the pain and from your head, which is an increasingly unsafe place to be. "I just keep thinking about it," you admit, shamefully.

"Okay...okay...um, did I ever tell you how I started working with Dr. Deaton?"

You shake your head, shutting your eyes and trying to concentrate on not moaning in pain.

"Well, I had this dog growing up, Roxie..." Scott says, and then trails off for a moment before continuing. "And this other dog attacked her when I was nine, and I had a really terrible asthma attack and ended up in the hospital, and Dr. Deaton tried to save her but she died."

You open your eyes to stare at him in horror.

"Yeah, it was pretty awful," Scott says quickly, looking like he very much regrets starting this story. "So anyway, after I got out of the hospital I went to see him, and, you know, thank him for...for trying. He was really nice about it and showed me around the clinic, and that's when I decided...I wanted to be a vet," Scott continues, looking very uncomfortable. He really does not like talking about himself and you have little doubt he would not be telling this story if you weren't severely injured. "So I volunteered at the animal shelter in middle school, and freshman year of high school he came by and offered me a job."

"You never got another dog?" you ask him hoarsely.

He shakes his head slowly. "No, I didn't...I didn't want to replace her, you know?" he says, swallowing at looking down at his hands on your arms instead of up at you. "And by the time I started thinking about it my dad was gone, and I didn't think it was fair to ask my mom to help take care of a dog with all the other stuff she has to do."

You nod and stop your rocking, trying to ascertain if the painkillers have kicked in yet. Nope, definitely not.

"You ever have any pets?" Scott asks, sucking more pain out of you.

"No, my parents don't like animals," you murmur, remembering begging them for a puppy in first grade.

"That...doesn't surprised me," Scott says, and then pauses. "Sorry."

"They think they're dirty," you continue, dully. "They bought me a stuffed dog that I used to carry everywhere, but it got lost when we moved."

You cried when you realized it was gone, and they got mad at you for overreacting. You were seven.

Scott says something, patting your shoulder, but you don't catch it, feeling a little numb.

"I think they're working," you tell him, and feel very tired all of the sudden there isn't pain to keep you awake.

"Okay, drink a glass of water, okay?" Scott says, picking up the glass of water off his sink next to his razor and filling it.

You do, even though you're not really thirsty, and then he picks you up and carries you back to bed.

 

* * *

 

You insist that Scott and Isaac go to school the next day. They protest, but finals are soon, and you'd never forgive yourself if Scott did badly because he was too busy taking care of you. You spend most of the day in front of the TV on the McCalls' couch, drifting in and out of drugged sleep while Melissa feeds you canned soup and orange juice. It's kind of awkward-she has to be suspicious of what's going on between you three-but she doesn't bring it up and you're too depressed to worry about it too much.

Scott and Isaac call the home phone during lunch to check up on you, sounding very anxious, but you assure them you're doing fine. Around 1:30 Melissa goes to the grocery store to pick up more soft food for you to eat, apologizing profusely even though you're the one who ate everything. You take two pills when your jaw starts throbbing again, and then when they don't help in ten minutes, you take another one.

And then things get weird.

You feel very odd, like you're drunk except very floaty, and you walk around the McCalls' kitchen, fascinated by all the different pieces of clutter. Your mother keeps your house pristine, disdainful of unorganized papers or trinkets. She would probably have a heart attack if she saw Scott's bathroom, which has tiny hairs from shaving all over the sink. You giggle at the state of Scott's bathroom, and catching sight of the cordless phone by the microwave, you decide you need to call your parents.

You sit down on the floor in front of the fridge and dial your home number. It rings and rings, and you're not really surprised when it goes to voicemail. Your parents never answer the phone unless they recognize the number.

"Hi..." you say distantly, looking at the scratch in the wood floor under the oven. "I don't...I don't really know why I'm calling. I think I wanted to just get it over with. I don't want to see you, but I-"

"Allison!" your mother says frantically, and you hear her fumbling with the phone on the other end. "Allison, don't hang up!"

"Are you alright?" your father's comes from slightly farther away.

"I guess," you say, bemused by the urgency in their voices. "I broke a lot of bones. The doctor said I have to go to an oral surgeon. They might have to do surgery on my jaw."

"Where are you?" your father demands. "Are you still at that boy's house?"

"I'm not telling you that," you scowl. "You'll come and take me away and brainwash me to be evil."

A pause.

"What?" your mother says.

"I feel a lot like Sirius Black," you tell them, absentmindedly examining your hair, picking it up and combing it through your fingers. "He had an evil family too."

"Who?" your father says, sounding confused. "Allison, are you...are you  _high_?"

"These painkillers make me feel weird," you admit. "But happy. I was sad a lot earlier."

"Who gave you them?" your mother asks angrily. "Was it the nurse? Don't take anything else she gives you!"

"Why are you always so angry?" you ask her, a sudden wave of sadness washing through you. "Normal people aren't so angry, you know."

"Allison, I need you to tell me-"

"Wait, Victoria, just-" your father says quickly, and then continues in a much calmer tone. "Allison, you're confused, alright? We're not evil."

Tears spring to your eyes. "You shoot people."

"Werewolves," your father clarifies. "Who kill people. We have a code that-"

You giggle, even though it's not particularly funny. "Oh, the _code_. I don't really care about that. You always talk about it, but you still try to kill my friends. And you tried to make me shoot people too!"

"Allison, what are-"

"Don't lie to me!" you say sharply, sitting up straight and clutching the phone bruisingly tightly. "I'm not stupid! I know why you took me to those shooting ranges and archery lessons. You wanted me to kill people too! And I didn't want to, so I quit, but..." You sag back against the fridge, misery weighing you down. "But then I had to."

They don't say anything for such a long time you think they might have hung up.

"Allison," your mother says finally, tone deathly serious. "Did you kill Gerard?"

"Yeah," you say, leaning your head back to look up at the ceiling idly.

There's a sharp inhale from the other end.

"Why?" your mother asks flatly.

"He was going to kill everyone; Scott, Isaac, me, you. He wanted to become a werewolf to cure his cancer. He put a bomb under my car."

"What?!" your father exclaims.

You scrunch your nose in concentration, and it doesn't hurt like it should. God, you love painkillers. "It was a box," you explain. "Under my car. Lydia said I would die if I drove it. She always knows when people are going to die."

"What does Lyd-"

"So I shot him," you finish boredly, not wanting to drag this out. "With Kate's gun. I stole them after she died. But I guess you probably already found them in my closet."

Neither of them deny it.

"You need to come home, Allison," your father says hoarsely. "We can...we can talk about this at home."

"No," you reply, recoiling at the idea. "I'm not coming home. I hate home. Scott said I didn't have to go home if I didn't want to."

Your father lets out an angry, cut off noise.

"Really?" your mother says tersely. "What else does Scott say?"

"Leave him alone," you tell them, a jolt of fear running through you. "Scott's nice. He doesn't hurt anyone,  _ever_."

"Be that as it may, you need to come home," your mother says. "We need to make sure you're okay. We'll take you to the oral surgeon."

"I don't want to come home," you tell her numbly. "I hate being at home. I used to spend a lot of time wondering how long I could stay in the hospital if I threw myself off the roof. Or got into a car accident."

"Allison," your mother says after a long pause, and for a second you barely recognize her because it sounds like she's  _crying_.

It makes you want to cry too. "You're not even sorry," you sob, bringing your knees up and pressing your forehead to them. "I saw you kill Emily, I  _saw_  you!"

"Who?" your father says.

You cry harder and hang up the phone, tossing it on the floor in front of you.

It's not fair. You hate everything, why does it have to be this way? Why couldn't you have good parents, who were nice and normal, like Scott's mom?

After a brief crying fit and ten minutes of feeling sorry for yourself, you pick yourself up off the floor and go back into the living room to collapse on the couch. You stay there until Scott's mom comes back and pretend you don't know how the phone got on the kitchen floor.

 

* * *

 

"What do you want to do?" Lydia asks you, sitting beside you on the couch with a perpetual hint of fear in her voice.

"Get drunk," you tell her, not really joking even a little bit. You've come down from your high, and are back to feeling horrible, as well as an idiot for calling your parents. That could have gone really badly-what if they'd come to get you while you were alone in the house? And what you said...you want to curl up in a little ball and die at the memory. You're so pathetic. You just want to forget. You want anything that will stop you from feeling like this.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Lydia says predictably, adjusting the McCall's woven blanket around your shoulders.

"You should go outside," Malia says, looking up at you critically from the photo of little Scott and Stiles she was studying. "You look terrible."

"Malia, what have we said about commenting on people's appearances?" Lydia turn to snap at her.

"Don't?" Malia frowns, unsure. "But you do it all the time."

"Because I actually understand the concept of tact," Lydia tells her untactfully. "Unlike  _you_."

"Whatever," Malia says, rolling her eyes. "She's really pale, so she should go outside. Being inside so long isn't good."

Isaac is at work and Scott has his SAT prep class on Friday at the library, so he sent Lydia and Malia to babysit you. Which is fine, you guess, because you've been miserable and lonely, not wanting to disturb Scott's mom on her day off.

But you can't really do much in your current state, which only makes things worse when all you want to do is run away.

"How's your pain?" Lydia asks, for the third time since she's gotten here. "Have the pills kicked in yet?"

"It's fine," you mumble, even though your fingers and jaw still ache. You don't see much point in talking about it.

Malia puts down the picture frame on the mantle and crosses the living room abruptly to grab your arm from under the blanket.

You gasp at the sudden movement and try to pull away, but Malia is too strong.

"Huh," she says, wincing and staring down at the black lines crawling up her veins, heedless of your struggle. "That kinda hurts."

"Malia, let her go," Lydia snaps sharply.

Malia does immediately, and you jerk back into the couch, heart pounding rapidly in your chest.

"Don't just grab people!" Lydia says angrily, wrapping her arms around your shoulders protectively.

"Sorry," Malia says, looking at you in confusion. "Scott said I could take people's pain away."

"Ask first," Lydia insists.

"Okay," Malia says dubiously. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. I'm fine," you say, even though you're not. You think you're going to throw up. You feel trapped and terrified, like your insides are going to vibrate out of you, and  _God_ , this can't go on. You can't keep feeling like this for the rest of your life. You'll go insane. You have to get over it. You have to forget what it felt like, tied to that chair, being beaten with no hope of escape. No way of fighting back. If Scott hadn't called you, hadn't known you always keep your phone on you, even in the bathroom, and realized that you not answering was a warning sign...who knows what could have happened to you? You could be dead right now.

"Sorry," Malia offers, still looking confused. "I didn't mean to scare you."

You shake her apology off, hiding your arm under the blanket. Before anyone else can say anything there's a knock on the door, and you stiffen in fear.

"Who is it?" Lydia calls, already pulling out her phone.

"It's Braeden," Malia tells you, observing your guarded body language with a frown.

"Did someone knock?" Melissa says, coming halfway down the stairs with a duster in one hand and a rag in the other.

"It's Braeden, apparently," Lydia says, approaching the door with caution.

"Oh, finally," Melissa says, and finishes coming down the stairs to pull the door open. "Are you going to come in now?" she asks in exasperation.

"Just have to use the bathroom," Braeden says with a professional nod, stepping inside.

"I really don't see why you have to sit out there the entire time," Melissa says, looking a little disappointed. "It has to be cold in that car."

"I need to be able to see the road," Braeden says, smiling at her gently. "And don't worry, I'm used to stake-outs."

"You're sitting outside?" you ask her, confused by their familiarity.

"Just making sure no one bothers you," Braeden says, tactfully not mentioning that in all likelihood it'd be your parents again. You feel like you should have realized this earlier. Of course Melissa wouldn't leave you completely unprotected while she went out to buy groceries. She may have even said something about it, but you were too high on painkillers to notice.

"At least let me make you some coffee before you go out again," Melissa says, and goes into the kitchen.

You stare after Braeden as she heads for the downstairs bathroom. You don't understand why she's involving herself. Melissa either. They don't have to be a part of this, and yet they're protecting you from your parents even though it could cause them trouble. Will cause them trouble, knowing how vengeful your parents are.

Braeden stays a bit to have coffee and explains how her position outside the house is perfect for seeing someone from the road or someone trying to sneak into the backyard. She seems very confident and laidback, like she's done this a million times before and doesn't think it's at all a big deal, though she seems slightly suspicious of Malia, giving her assessing looks over her cup of coffee.

"Don't worry about anything, just get a lot of rest, alright?" she tells you on her way out, and you watch her walk across the street to her car out the window.

You feel even worse now, and wonder if you could sneak another painkiller.

It's probably a bad sign how often you've been thinking about getting drunk or getting high lately, but you're too miserable to care. The only time you don't feel like your insides are being crushed with fear and self-hatred is when you're high, and you find yourself wondering what you'll do when your painkillers run out.

You'll have to find another way to get more pills. Weed is popular, but you really have no idea where to get it, and it smells gross. Also, isn't it supposed to make you paranoid? That's the last thing you need. Harder drugs are probably more effective (you hear heroin's great for escaping reality) but there's the addiction factor, and you don't need to be any crazier than you already are. No, prescription drugs are your best bet. In a town like this there has to be someone with a prescription pad for sale.

"Didn't you just take two of those an hour ago?" Scott asks, when you get up off the couch after dinner, slipping the orange bottle out of a pair of his black sweatpants.

"No," you lie without thinking, and wince when you realize your mistake.

Scott looks dismayed and disappointed, and he sits up straight, jostling Isaac off his shoulder, but reaching out to steady him on instinct.

"How many of those have you taken today?" he asks, looking between you and the pill bottle warily.

You shrug and avoid his gaze. "I dunno. I haven't kept track."

Scott raises his eyebrows in alarm and Isaac glances uncertainty between you two before reaching out for the remote and turning down the volume on the TV.

"I think you should give me those," Scott says slowly, reaching out his hand for the bottle.

"It's fine," you say, trying to inject as much certainty into your voice as possible.

"You can't just take as many as you want," Scott says seriously. "Those are really strong. Why don't you give them to me and I'll keep track of them for you?"

His voice is clear of judgment, but is too light and casual for you to buy. On his other side, Isaac has slumped deeper into the couch, avoiding your eyes like the coward he is.

They're already thinking of you as a drug addict and you haven't even started yet, you think furiously.

"I'm fine!" you snap, and turn on your heel go upstairs before he can argue.

Still, you don't try to take another one because you know he'll hear you. When you wake up the next morning the bottle is gone, two white pills on a small plate and a glass of water left in its wake.

 

* * *

 

Predictably, Saturday is terrible. Scott, Isaac, and Melissa keep an eye on you at all times, and cut off from your painkillers, even sitting up is agony. Eating is similarly excruciating, and you begin to refuse as much food as possible, because you're so nauseous you're worried you might throw up again. That can't be good for your jaw. You spend most of the day curled up on the couch with your eye on the clock, making your way slowly to Melissa for your pills every four hours on the dot, but by the afternoon you're in so much pain that you've sweated through Melissa's light pink t-shirt, and with two hours left until your next dose, you stumble upstairs and lock yourself in the bathroom so you can sit on the floor and rock back in forth in peace.

Peace for five minutes at least. It could have been longer, though. You don't have the most reliable sense of time right now.

"Allison?" Scott says, sounding worried on the other side of the door. "You okay?"

"Mmhm," you say, not wanting to open your mouth for fear of whimpering.

There is a pause and then the door knob jingles. It's locked, but Scott doesn't seem deterred and eventually gets it open, with a claw maybe.

"Allison, you look terrible!" he says, crouching down beside you immediately. "What's wrong? What hurts?"

Everything, you think miserably. Your ribs, your jaw, your nose. Your fingers have gone numb, though. So there's that.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he says in a tight voice as he sucks pain away from you, and you sag in relief, sweat dripping down your back.

You took away my pain medication, you think angrily. What did you think was going to happen?

"Mom!" Scott gets up and sticks his head out the door to yell. "Mom, can you come up here, something's wrong!"

Melissa ascertains that you need a stronger dose of painkiller, and goes to the hospital to switch them out. By the time Isaac comes home from work you've progressed to sobbing quietly into Scott's shoulder while he tries to take as much pain from you as possible, steadily turning whiter and whiter.

"What's wrong with her?" Isaac asks, sounding terrified, and sits down on your other side.

"Painkillers aren't strong enough," Scott says shakily. "Mom's going to get new ones. Here, can you-"

Isaac takes over-gasping a little at the intensity of the pain- and Scott sags back into the couch, exhaling deeply.

"Next time say something," he says, reaching forward to cup your face, sounding dismayed. "You should have said they weren't working."

You don't answer, just focus on not screaming. The truth is you didn't realize they weren't strong enough, since you'd pretty much been taking them on as needed basis. You don't think telling them this would help.

Fortunately, Melissa comes back with your new pills a couple minutes later, and within fifteen minutes the horrible throbbing has faded. You become very tired very fast, the chief side effect of these pills being drowsiness, and you miss the floaty feeling. But it's acceptable, you guess. You can't feel anything if you're not conscious.

You spend most of Sunday drifting in and out of sleep. The swelling on your nose goes down, but your jaw and stomach remain puffy and heavily bruised. Washing with the cast is annoying, and you pretty much give up on shampooing your hair and stick to rinsing yourself down with some of Scott's neutral-smelling body wash.

Eating remains unpleasant, even more so now as another side effect of your new pills is apparently loss of appetite, but you force mouthfuls of canned soup warmed in the McCall's microwave and applesauce down your throat without complaint.

Your balance is off, which isn't new really, but Scott seems determined to carry you whenever you want to move rooms, as if trying to make up for not realizing how bad your condition was yesterday. Isaac is very quiet, and spends an uncomfortable amount of time watching you closely.

Mostly, though, you doze on Scott's bed while he and Isaac do homework, speaking in hushed voices about sine and cosine functions, Beowolf, and the Reconstruction.

 

* * *

 

The house is completely empty the next morning. You eat breakfast, take a shower, walk around aimlessly, watch a bit of TV, clean Scott's bathroom, but by noon you don't even know what to do with yourself. There is nothing here that can distract you from your dark thoughts, from remembering every single detail of your torture, of hating yourself for being so weak you couldn't save yourself. Telling yourself to stop thinking about it, to focus on the future, does not help. Neither does angrily berating yourself for being pathetic, to get over it already. Knowledge that it could have been so much worse (What if Scott hadn't come when he did? Would they have killed you and your parents? What if threatening to rape you hadn't been a bluff?) only causes you obsess over it more. How are you supposed to move on from this? You can't, there's no way, not after what they did to you. But that's pathetic, people get the shit beaten out of them everyday and they get over it, why can't you? The world is full of abuse and rape and no justice for any of it, and people who've suffered far worse than you have picked themselves up and moved on with their lives. You have to do that. You have to be strong and move on. You can't. How do they do it? Or do they really? Are they all just pretending, and are just as miserable as you are right now? Every single day for the rest of your life? You can't do it. You can't just feel like this forever, broken beyond repair. You wish you could just disappear into nothing so you wouldn't have to feel like this anymore, so you wouldn't have to think about it constantly, much less deal with your parents and being a burden on everyone around you.

You cry helplessly into the couch cushions, but it doesn't make you feel better. There is no relief coming, you realize. Maybe time will help, but that seems so far away right now. You can't do this forever. You can't stay here forever.

You see tomorrow and the day after that, stretched out in front of you exactly the same, with no end it sight.

It's easy to decide what to do after that. You can't fix yourself right now. But you can do something to make things easier going forward.

You slip on your light blue Toms and head out the front door for the first time in days, feeling slightly guilty as you close the door behind you with no way to lock it. You walk down the McCall's lawn and across the street to Derek's Toyota. Thankfully, Derek is not in the Toyota, just Braeden, who stares at you as you walk up to the window.

"Hey," you say, knocking on the window.

She unlocks the car and you open the door.

"Can I sit?" you asks, gesturing at the passenger seat, which is covered in fast food containers and bags of chips.

"Yeah, sure," Braeden says, and quickly pushes them onto the floor. She tosses the book she was holding into the backseat and looks at you carefully. "Anything wrong?"

"No," you say, shaking your head, and wrap your arms around yourself because the car's pretty cold. "I need to you take me to my parents' house."

Braeden raises both eyebrows. "That sounds like a terrible idea," she tells you candidly.

"I'll have to talk to them sooner or later," you tell her, swallowing down a tremor of fear at the thought of it. "It might as well be sooner. I can't just...sit here."

Your life is enough of a mess. You need to end this. Put to rest one of your problems. It's all you can do right now.

"Look," Braeden says, looking deeply uncomfortable. "Have you talked to Scott about this? Or Melissa? Because I don't think this is something you should do lightly. This is clearly a very emotional situation, and to be honest, I really don't know what your parents are going to do if you go over there."

"They won't hurt me," you tell her dully, and then sigh, looking down at your hands in your lap. "At least not on purpose. I just can't...I can't make Melissa take care of me anymore. This isn't her problem. I need to figure something else out. And I can't do that unless I deal with them first."

"What do you mean, figure something else out?" Braeden asks, confused. She starts the car and turns the heat all the way up, but makes no attempt to shift gear into drive. "You're still in high school."

"I don't..." you say, your chest tightening up painfully. "I have less than two months until I turn eighteen. I think I can stay with Lydia until then, maybe until I finish high school- it's not like her mother's around much. Her house is huge and she's pretty rich, so I wouldn't be that much of a burden."

"What if your parents want you to stay with them?"

That is what they want. You just don't see them being able to accept who are you. What you've done. Who you're with. And you cannot stand by and let them continue to hurt people. You just don't see cohabitation as a possibility now that's it's all out there.

"I doubt they're going to want me to once they have all the facts," you say as calmly as possible. "I was going to ask if you could wait outside. If I'm not out in half an hour..."

"I could come in with you," Braeden says, still looking skeptical.

You shake your head. "No, that'll just make things messier. That's why I didn't tell anyone else either. They'd want to come with me, and...I just want to get this over with."

"Okay," Braeden says after a pause. "I still don't think this is a good idea, but I get it."

She changes gear to drive and eases out to the center of the road towards your house. You watch as Scott's house disappears in the mirror and stick your hand in your pocket for the small plastic bag of painkillers Melissa left you for the day, just to make sure they're still there.

"Your cheek looks better," Braeden observes while you're waiting at a stop light. "You feeling any better?"

"Yeah," you say quietly. "My ribs don't hurt as much."

"Yeah, broken ribs are no joke," Braeden says, turning away from the road to look over you with a wince. "What about everything else? You doing okay all by yourself?"

You shrug. "It's not for that long. Scott will be back at 3:30 and Lydia's coming over too, I think."

"What about that other girl?" Braeden asks in a too casual voice as she turns left at the green arrow. "Malia."

You glance at her in askance. "No, I don't think so. I don't really know her that well...Why do you ask?"

"She was there Friday, wasn't she?" Braeden says lightly, not taking her eyes off the road.

"Yeah..." you say suspiciously. "Do  _you_  know her?"

"No, I-" she says, and sighs, turning to give you a rueful look. "Not her. I think I might know who her parents are."

"Her parents?"

"Her biological parents," she corrects. "It's not...it's not a problem, but it could potentially be in the future. What do you think of her?"

"She's...alright, given the circumstances," you say, remembering the way Malia tried to apologize to you for grabbing your arm by grooming your hair with her fingers. ...Which was actually kind of nice? You were kind of disappointed when Lydia made her stop. "She's trying to be, you know, normal."

Braeden nods shortly.

"What do you mean her parents could be a problem?" you ask worriedly.

"It's nothing, don't worry about that now, okay?" Braeden tells you as she turns onto your street. "Marin and I have it under control."

She stops in front of your house, wiping the inquiry from your mind. You take a deep breath, trying not to panic and look over at the front door, trying not to think about what happened the last time you were here.

"Allison?" Braeden says gently. "I can come in with you."

You shake your head and straighten, reaching out for the door handle. "No, I'm good," you say bracingly, stepping out of the car. "Just...if I don't come out-"

"Half an hour, I got it," she says firmly. "Good luck."

You nod and turn towards your house, walking up the driveway next to your car to get to the front door. You reach out to ring the doorbell with a shaking hand before you can think about how much you don't want to do this.

Alright, alright, alright, you think as the chime rings inside the house. You are here to end this. To lay it all out. No matter what they say, what excuses they offer, you have to remain strong. You did what you had to, and you're not sorry. You've always known it was going to come to this. Maybe not so soon, but you knew. There was always going one day when you wouldn't have a family anymore.

There's footsteps from inside approaching the door and you inhale sharply, closing your eyes for a brief second. You turn around and look back at Braeden, who waves at you slowly from the road. You hear fumbling with the door knob, and turn back around just in time to see the front door thrown open, your mother on the other side with a wide-eyed expression on her face, your father two steps behind her.

"Hi," you say, forcing yourself to look at them head on, and you're proud your voice doesn't shake. "We need to talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Allison. This chapter was so sad to write because she's in such a terrible position. Please leave a comment!


	27. See me bare my teeth for you

“Allison,” your father says, stunned. He doesn't seem to be able to say anything else, just stares at you.

You cross your arms over your chest and resist shivering. It's nearly freezing today and you're wearing Isaac's black hoodie, Melissa's sweatpants and t-shirt (and Scott's underwear).

Your mother seems to realize this too. “Come in,” she orders, stepping back and pulling the door open further.

You really, _really_ do not want to. But you steel yourself and step calmly over the threshold. You don't flinch when she shuts and locks the door behind you, but it's a near thing.

“Why don't we...go into the living room?” your father says, looking between you and your mother nervously. It doesn't look like he's shaved in the last couple days and there are dark circles under both their eyes. You tell yourself you don't care.

You walk into the living room, not daring to turn to the side and look down the hallway into the kitchen. You sit down on the arm chair closest to the door, shoving your hands in the front pocket of Isaac's hoodie to keep yourself from shaking.

Your parents stare at you unnervingly and then slowly come into the living room to sit down on the couch across from you, the coffee table a flimsy barrier between you.

“How are your injuries?” your mother asks finally, expression very tense.

“Better,” you say shortly. The swelling on your jaw's gone down a lot, though the bruising remains, and your ribs don't hurt as much when you move. Your fingers and nose are fine as long as you don't try to move them.

“That's good,” your father says brusquely, shifting uncomfortably. His eyes dart away when you look at him, and for some reason it calms you. You can do this.

“I'm here to put an end to this,” you tell them, folding your hands in your lap properly.

“Put an end to what?” your mother says, eyes narrowing.

“To our current impasse,” you say flatly.

“Alright,” your father says, looking rather taken aback at your straightforwardness.

“To be frank, I don't see a way this can be resolved,” you say matter-of-factly, gaining confidence. It's always been easiest to get through to your parents by remaining as emotionless as possible. You can get through this as long as you don't get angry or start to cry. You've imagined this moment so many times before, but it doesn't have to be dramatic, at least on your end. “I have no intention of joining the family business, and as I realize that is nonnegotiable for you, I don't see how continued interaction is possible.”

“What?” your mother says, turning to look at your father in alarm. “Allison, what on earth-”

“Allison, let us explain-”

“I am not interested in your explanations,” you cut them off, voice tightening in anger. “This is not some sort of misunderstanding. I know exactly who you are and what you do. And I have no interest in being part of any of it. I have spent the last year spying on you and working against you. I killed Gerard, and I would do it again, because he was a disgusting murderer who would have killed anyone, including all of us, to get what he wanted. And you know what? I think you're only slightly less awful than he was. ”

“Who told you that?” your mother asks, white and shaking. “Was it that alph-”

“Who _told_ me that?” you repeat incredulously. “No one had to tell me anything, I _live_ with you! I know what's in the basement, I know who all those “private contractors” you worked with earlier this year were! I know that you've killed people in. Every. Single. Town. We've moved to since I was born-”

“Allison, they were werewolves!” your father interjects, looking angry and dismayed. “Werewolves who were killing innocent people! We hunt those who hunt us. We protect people from monsters who-”

“Like Emily Doroshenko!?” you demand, leaping to your feet. So much for staying stoic. “I saw you kill her,” you tell them furiously, breathing heavily to stay in control. “I _saw_ you. She was begging for her life and you _killed_ her. And yes, she killed other people, I know that, but she was out of control and she need your help. You shot Scott with an _arrow_ the first night he was turned, when he was scared and didn't know what was going on. How many others have you killed like that, huh?”

“They're monsters,” your mother says, face twisting in disgust. “They're a danger to everyone around them. Do you have any idea how many members of your father's and my family have been murdered by werewolves? How many of our friends?”

“Oh, yeah, I feel really bad about the crazy vigilantes getting what's coming to them,” you say viciously.

Your mother leaps to her feet. “You watch your mouth!” she says angrily, the tightness around her eyes a warning sign if you've ever seen one, but you're too angry to pay any heed.

“You don't know what you're talking about,” your father practically snarls, getting to his feet as well. “I don't know what those werewolves told you, but they're lying animals. We are your parents and we know what they really are.”

“Oh, really?” you scoff, feeling suddenly hysterical. “Ever had a conversation with one? Or do you just go straight to murder?!”

“Are you sleeping with that alpha?” your mother demands suddenly, the words bursting out of her like water through a dam. “Or the other one, Lahey? We found your birth control in your room, don't you dare lie to us!”

You let out a bitter laugh. “'Cause of course that's all you care about,” you tell her in disgust. “No interest in my thoughts, my feelings, no, that's what the therapist is for! But God forbid our pure innocent daughter be having sex!”

“Answer the question,” your father demands angrily, looking like he wants to punch something. “Who are you having...who are you involved with?”

“Actually, I'm fucking both of them,” you tell them, almost gleefully. “Because why have one werewolf when you coul-”

Your mother slaps you, sending white hot pain lancing up your right jawbone. She hasn't slapped you in years, but you're not even remotely surprised.

You stumble, reaching out for the back of the armchair to study yourself with one hand, the other coming up to lie over the burning place where she slapped you.

There's complete and utter silence as you stare down at the armchair cushion, gripping the back of the chair and breathe heavily, so as not to let the tears of pain in your eyes fall. After a couple seconds, you stand and turn to face them again, face impassive.

Your mother is staring at you in shock, frozen with her hand still outstretched, and your father looks at you like he doesn't even know who you are anymore.

“We're done,” you tell them coldly. “I'm getting my things, and then I'm leaving. Do not attempt to contact me again.”

You turn on your heel and head for the stairs, jaw still stinging.

Your room is a mess. All the furniture has been moved around and all your clothes have been thrown on the floor. You grab a couple things that you wear a lot, and then take the emergency bag you were hiding in the back of your closet and your bag of guns. You can't find your package of Nuvo Rings, unfortunately, but your cell phone is still lying on your bedside table in your purse where you left it, and you stuff it in your duffel bag with your laptop and your chargers before heading back into the hall again. Your textbooks are too heavy, and you can just borrow them from Lydia for the rest of the year.

“We are not letting you leave this house,” your father says from the downstairs landing as you come down the stairs, folding his arms over his chest firmly. “You will have no further contact with those boys, and we are going to sit down and have a conversation about what has happened, but you are not-”

“Or what?” you say disdainfully, looking down at the two of them from halfway down the stairs. “You think I came here alone? I have someone waiting outside, don't _make_ me call her.”

You hold out your phone threateningly and then continue down the stairs. “Move,” you say, coming to stand in front of your father, forcing yourself not to waver.

“No,” he says back, just as determinedly. “You are not leaving this house.”

“Get out of my way!” you say, trying to push past him, but he shoves you back, and your mother grabs you. “Get off me!”

Panic grips you, and you grab for the zipper on your duffel bag. Both your parents freeze and step back. You look up at them, and see your shock reflected on their faces. For a second, nobody moves. You think you're going to throw up.

“Stay away from me,” you choke and then hurry out the door before they can stop you.

“Uh, you okay?” Braeden says as you throw yourself into the car.

“Drive!” you gasp, holding your bags to yourself.

She hits the gas and you watch your parents run down the lawn after you as you drive away. After Braeden turns onto the next street you close your eyes and lean back against the headrest, tears springing to your eyes.

It's over. Oh, God, it's _over_. You knew it was going to hurt, but you didn't know how much, and what are you going to do now? Can you really stay with Lydia until you turn eighteen? Until you graduate high school? What about college? Or, thinking more short-term, what about medical insurance? What are you going to do without a safety net?

Braeden drops you back at Scott's house and sits with you in the living room, telling you stories about her world travels to distract you, pointedly not mentioning the reason she traveled to those places in the first place. You don't talk much, but she stays with you until Scott and Lydia come back, and you're very grateful.

You don't tell Scott and Lydia what happened, even though you know you should. You will tomorrow, when the rawness has faded and you decide the best way to tell them. When you can be sure you won't burst into tears in the middle of your explanation.

But you forget about your stuff, and when you come out of the shower after dinner wearing your dark blue checkered pajama bottoms, Isaac sits up on Scott's bed and gives you a frown.

"Where did you get those clothes?" he asks.

Shit.

"I got them from my parents' house," you say casually, putting your emergency bag down on the floor next to Scott's overflowing hamper.

"What?" Scott says in alarm, looking up from his Spanish essay. He'd been lying on his stomach on the bed next to Isaac, absentmindedly stroking Isaac's side with his palm, but now he sits up as well, looking shaken.

"Braeden took me," you tell him with a shrug, trying very hard to make it sound like not a big deal, but your voice is too strained for it to be even remotely effective. "I told them I'm done."

“Are they going to listen?" Isaac asks worriedly.

"Allison, that was dangerous!" Scott says, looking horrified. "You should have told me, I would have come with you!"

"That would not have helped," you tell him shakily, and sit down on the bed next to Isaac, feeling like there's a rock stuck in your throat.

Isaac puts his hands on your shoulders and draws you down to the bed beside him.

"They know about you," you tell them, leaning your forehead against Isaac's shoulder and taking deep steadying breaths. "And they know I'll never give you up."

You're not sure if they know that actually, but it's true. With a jolt of fear you wonder if you shouldn't have told them, if they'll go after Scott and Isaac now, but that's not quite right. They already suspected, didn't they?

Without warning you begin to cry, deep painful sobs that reverberate through your whole body. They must hate you now, be more disgusted with you than they ever were before, and you always knew this was going to happen, but it still hurts.

"Hey, hey, Allison," Isaac says, gathering you up in his arms and rolling you over his body so that you're between them.

"C'mere, Allison, it's going to be alright, we're here," Scott murmurs, wrapping his arms around you from behind and kissing your temple.

It's not going to be alright. How can it be? You don't have a family anymore. You weren't prepared for this. Not so soon.

You don't say any of this, because it's not like they can help. You just cry until you can't anymore, and let them reassure you you'll be fine, that they'll take care of you.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Scott asks after you're quiet for a while, stroking your hair gently while you lie on Isaac's forearm, his forehead resting on the top of your head. His curls tickle and every exhale blows right into your eyes, but you don't complain.

You shake your head, shaking Isaac's head with it. "I need a distraction," you say, turning to roll over on your back.

You reach out for the hem of Scott's t-shirt and slide your hand under it, palming over his stomach.

"Uh," Scott says, glancing over at Isaac uncertainly. "I'm not sure that's..."

You close your eyes. "Please, can you just-"

"What about your ribs?" Isaac asks, leaning in close to nuzzle at the side of your neck.

"They're fine, I'll be careful, just-" you say, shifting in frustration.

Isaac slips his hand under the front of your pajama bottoms and into your underwear. You close your eyes and spread your legs to accommodate him, arching your back a little. He rubs over you gently, and you take sharp breaths, and reach for Scott. He comes easily, lifting up your shirt, but make a startled sound and freezes. You open your eyes to see him staring down at your bruised abdomen in horror. Isaac stops moving as well.

"It's fine," you say quickly, pushing your t-shirt back down. You grip Scott's shoulder and pull him over you. "Don't stop."

"Okay," Scott says, still sounding unsure. You wish you could pull him down to kiss him, but of course you can't because of your jaw.

He leans over to kiss your neck and you wrap your good arm around his shoulders and lean back, trying to focus on Isaac's fingers. You moan quietly when he slips one into you, and try to lean into the feeling.

Two fingers is a tight fit. Isaac reaches back for Scott's bedside table to get the lube, but Scott stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Here, let me," he says, and eases your pajama pants and underwear down. He slides between your legs, and Isaac removes his fingers just before he gets his mouth on you.

Your breathing sounds very loud in Scott's small room, and you have to try very hard not to be loud. Clenching your jaw shut is not an option, so you mostly just pant, lost under Scott's tongue and fingers and Isaac's palms and lips on your boobs.

Coming hurts. Your stomach goes concave, putting pressure on your ribs, and you let out a choked off cry of pain and pleasure, hips jerking wildly.

"You okay?" Isaac asks you as you pant for breath, face burning.

"Mmhm," you say, dizzy, but satisfied. Orgasms always put you in a better mood.

Scott comes up to lie against your side, running his hands carefully down your body. "How are your ribs?"

"Okay," you reply, even they still kinda sting. You turn to your side to face him and smile as best you can. "That was good. Thanks."

Scott kisses your uninjured cheek and leans his forehead against your's, stroking your hair gently.

On your other side, Isaac shifts uncomfortably, pressing his nose into your neck and tracing your hip bone idly.

You suppress a smirk and pull Scott over you toward Isaac.

"Uh, Allison, what..." Scott says in confusion, trying to avoid putting an weight on you. "I don't think..."

Isaac hauls him down on top of him and kisses him fiercely, both hands going up the back of his shirt.

"Wha-are you serious?" Scott says with a muffled laugh. " _Isaac_."

"Oh, like you're not hard after that," Isaac mutters, right hand winding down between Scott's legs grabbily. "Uh huh, look at this."

Scott moans. "W-Well, yeah, I'm not made of, _ngh_ , yeah, okay..."

"C'mon," Isaac says impatiently, pushing up Scott's shirt further with one hand. "Fuck me."

"You really have no self-control," Scott murmurs in that low tone that never fails to make Isaac squirm.

"It's been _day_ s," Isaac says piteously, rocking his hips up towards Scott desperately.

"Oh, poor _baby_ ," you say mockingly, reaching out to fist your hand in his hair. Isaac arches back into it.

"Hands," Scott orders, and Isaac immediately reaches up to clutch the window sill.

Scott grabs for the lube, and you watch with interest as Isaac writhes under his fingers and then cock, teeth gritted against the grunts that escape his mouth. Scott grips his hip with one hand, bracing himself on the bed with the other as he drives into him rhythmically. You watch his twisted up expression closely, the way his abs flex, how he stifles his moans, and think about how lucky you are to have them like this.

"Scott, c'mon, I need-" Isaac gasps, letting go of the sill with his right hand.

"Yeah, go ahead," Scott grunts, jaw clenching tightly, and opens his eyes to peer down as Isaac begins to jerk himself off.

Isaac is always demanding and shameless when Scott fucks him, eager for anything Scott's willing to give him and always wanting more. Scott's different. He gets shy and needy, overwhelmed by the sensation, not to mention _loud_. He's always kind of embarrassed at his loss of control when it's over, but you love it. The way the two of them are...it's enough to make you jealous you don't have a dick to take them apart with.

You feel hot all over at the thought, and lean close to Isaac's ear. "Come on," you murmur. "That's it, come o-"

Isaac slaps his other hand over his mouth to stifle his cry and comes, jerking wildly under Scott's body. The bed squeaks loudly and you wince, but then Scott is groaning, expression growing even more strained, and then he collapses onto Isaac with a low hiss before going limp.

"Now that is what I'm talking about," Isaac mumbles into Scott's shoulder. "Don't wear a condom next time, though. That was really hot when I could smell it in you on Saturday."

"Oh, God," Scott whimpers in embarrassment, and rolls to the side to hide his face in your shoulder.

Isaac snickers and plasters himself to Scott's back, kissing his shoulder. He reaches down to get rid of the condom and tosses it in Scott's garbage can, grinning brightly.

Things don't seem too bad like this, together in Scott's bed. Not thinking about what happened. It feels like this really will work out. That you'll be okay without your parents. That Melissa is still somehow oblivious to your crazy threesome, despite the fact you've made no effort to hide that you're all sleeping in Scott's bed together these past few days. That you'll be able to live with Lydia, get a scholarship to college, and finally escape this town and your parents after graduation with no speed bumps. You know it's just the endorphins, but you try to believe it.

"You're going to be okay," Scott raises his head to say, as if sensing your thoughts. "I promise."

"Okay," you say, wrapping an arm around his waist, pushing anxiety for the future out of your head. "Okay."

 

* * *

 

Melissa takes you to the oral surgeon the next day. Luckily you carry around your medical insurance card in your wallet.

The doctor examines your jaw, the x-rays you took at the hospital, decides those aren't good enough and takes his own, and finally comes to the conclusion that you need minor surgery to attach metal plates over the break in your jawbone to make sure it heals properly. You're horrified, but apparently this is one of the best case scenarios for broken jaws. You have one clean break, a far better alternative than the shattered jaws from car accidents or sports the doctor usually sees. It'll take a couple hours, and then heal over the next few weeks. You won't even have to have it wired shut.

You schedule the surgery for the next day, and then go over to Lydia's to drown your sorrows in margaritas.

"I'm going to have to eat soup for like, two months," you complain drunkenly, lying back against the couch cushions in her family room and playing with the ends of her red hair absentmindedly.

"What about your tooth?" she asks, steadying your margarita glass as it sways dangerously.

"They'll fix it at the same time," you mumble. "Less expensive. I'm going to be on antibiotics for weeks, so I'll have to eat yogurt everyday. I hate yogurt."

You drain your glass and let it fall down to the couch, feeling pleasantly dizzy. "They're not going to take the metal plates out," you tell her. It seems very important that she know this. "They're just going to stay there forever."

It will be months until you're able to open your mouth all the way. Probably a long time until you can kiss Isaac and Scott, too. It sucks.

"You think your parents are just going to leave you alone?" Lydia asks worriedly, taking your glass from you and putting it safely on the coffee table. She pours herself another drink and looks at you with glassy eyes.

You shrug. "Dunno. Now that they know everything I don't think they'd want me anymore."

"Okay," Lydia says with an unnecessary nod. "Good. You'll stay here then. I'll tell my mom...something, and you can borrow my things until we go shopping."

"Thanks," you tell her genuinely. "I don't know what I'd...I can't stay at Scott's much longer. It's not fair to his mom, and I'm pretty sure she, you know, _knows_."

"Yeah," Lydia says, not looking even the tiniest bit surprised. "You three haven't exactly been subtle."

You cringe and gesture at the pitcher of margarita. "Another one?"

"You have surgery tomorrow," Lydia says, shaking her head. "You should have some water."

You really don't want to be sober right now, but you do as you're told.

Everything's going to be okay, you tell yourself. You're going to move in with Lydia and be fine. It'll be fun-you always wanted a sister. And then you can see Scott and Isaac whenever you want, won't have to worry about hiding anymore (well, except from Lydia's mother, but she's so absent she almost doesn't count.) You're going to be fine.

Except you never do end up moving in with Lydia.

 

* * *

 

You're lying on a cot after waking up from the anesthesia, the whole bottom of your face numb. You insisted that you could walk from the dentist's chair by yourself, but the nurse didn't believe you.

A woman with short red hair enters the room and you blink at her uncertainly.

"...llison, Allison," she says, coming over to stand next to you.

Oh, you think, she's your mother. How could you not have recognized her?

"What are you doing here?" you ask in confusion, words coming out very slowly.

"Alright, it's time to go, Allison," the nurse says, reentering the room with your jacket and your purse. "Time to get up."

This isn't right, you think as they put your jacket on you, pull you up, and walk you to the door and down the hall to a side door. Melissa is supposed to pick you up.

Your father is waiting in the car outside in the parking lot, and your knees buckle when you see him.

"No, I can't..." you tell the nurse, trying to pull out of your mother's grip. "I'm not supposed to-"

"It's alright, honey," the nurse says, removing your left hand from her pink scrubs.

"I can take her from here," your mother says as your father gets out of the car and opens the backseat door.

"Don't," you gasp, but then you're sitting in the backseat, staring at the passenger seat headrest in front of you as your father leans over you to fasten your seatbelt.

This can't be happening, you think in disbelief as your father starts the car and turns out of the parking lot. This isn't supposed to happen. Why are they here, where are they _taking_ you?

You turn to look out the window, watching the buildings and trees go by, watch the houses turn into gas stations and fast food restaurant.

Your father turns onto the highway and you lean back against the seat and close your eyes.

"Allison," your mother says some time later, breaking the oppressive that has filled the car. "Allison, look at me."

You do, seeing her turned around in her seat to look at you.

"Do you know where you are?" she asks you.

You say nothing, and return to staring out the window.

"Allison," she repeats sharply.

"What did you do with Melissa?" you ask slowly. Your mouth is still numb and you're so tired, but this is important. "Did you kill her?"

"What? No!" your father exclaims.

"Allison, don't be ridiculous," your mother says, sounding annoyed. "She's fine."

"Did you hurt her?" you ask, your voice trembling pathetically. If they hurt her because of you, after all she did for you...

"No, she's in a supply closet, someone will find her and let her out soon," your father says, like it's no big deal.

And how did you get her in there? you think. Did they drag her away and throw her inside? Did they tie her up, or drug her? You want to cry, to scream, but you're too tired.

Your mother says something else then, something about the gauze in your mouth, but you don't want to hear it, and turn to hide your face in the seat.

This can't be happening, this can't be happening, you think numbly. This is a bad dream.

Time passes. The numbness wears off, and your jaw and the inside of your mouth start to ache. You stop at a gas station and your mother peels away the bloody gauze from the incision in your mouth and replaces it with new gauze. You can't bear to look at either of them and keep your eyes fixed on the back of the passenger seat.

They try to talk to you several times during the drive, but you refuse to respond, and instead drift in and out of a haze, at least until your jaw starts throbbing so painfully you think you might cry.

You reach Washington by nightfall, and you're so weak with agony you can't even get out of the car.

"Allison? Allison!" your father says in alarm as your knees buckle, and you sag to the ground next to the car door. He catches you, and pushes your hair aside to see your face, not that it does much good. The Washington house is in a remote wooded area two hours north of Portland; there are no street lights here.

"Allison, what's wron-Victoria, she's covered in sweat!"

Those are tears on your cheeks actually, but he's not wrong. You're practically sweating through your jacket.

"What?" your mother says, leaving the bags at the foot of the steps leading up a winding path to the front door and coming back to your side. "Does she have a fever?"

"I don't think so," your father says, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead.

"Then why-oh, you stupid girl, why didn't you ask for your pain medication?!"

You close your eyes against another wave of tears, and your mouth trembles, but you keep it shut. Talking will do you no good right now, not when they've decided that kidnapping you is the best way to deal with this situation.

Your father lifts you into his arms bridal style and carries you up the path to the front door of the rustic-looking house. Your mother runs ahead of him turning on the lights in the hall and kitchen, and he sets you down at the dusty kitchen table, while your mother fills a glass of water at the sink.

"Open your mouth," she orders, coming to stand in front of you. You do as you're told, trying not to curl into yourself and rock back and forth in agony. She takes the gauze out of your mouth and hands you a light orange pill and the glass of water. "Swallow that."

You do, water dribbling down your chin. You don't dare wipe it and instead focus on sitting as still as possible on the wooden bench and stare at the dark hardwood floor.

You haven't been to this house since you were thirteen. You always thought it was weird your family had a vacation house that you rarely ever went to growing up, but now your family's sporadic visits make a lot more sense. You came here after your parents left Topeka in a rush when you were eight, after your father got into a "car accident" in Colorado, after your mother broke her leg in North Dakota. It's a safe house. Located on the outskirts of a tiny town, on an unnamed gravel road, the neighboring houses mostly empty due to the time of year. And now it will be your prison.

"What were you thinking?!" your father demands angrily, crossing his arms over his dark jacket.

You ignore him.

"Allison, look at me, what were you thin-"

"Chris, leave her, we'll talk about this tomorrow," your mother says, sitting down next to you on the bench and brushing your hair out of your face. It reminds you of Malia, and you resist flinching away in disgust. You'd give anything to be back sitting on Scott's couch with her and Lydia. "She needs to eat."

"I'm not sure we have anything here," your father says, turning to look through the cupboards. The kitchen here is smaller than you remember. Usually your parents choose houses with large kitchens, usually with an island. They really like to cook. This kitchen is small and dark, with one window by the stove, and the dishwasher blocks off half the room when open. Maybe they inherited it from someone.

Your father finds some chicken noodle soup in a cupboard and heats it up in the microwave for you. You're not hungry at all, despite not eating all day, but you're too tired to fight and eat it anyway. It helps that the painkillers have taken effect.

Your mother sits with her arm around you the entire time, wiping your mouth with a paper napkin, and it really creeps you out. She's never been so touchy feely before, what's wrong with her?

After you finish, they make up your usual room in the attic, and leave you a pair of pajamas, the pair you didn't take with you to Scott's, on the bed.

"Good night, Allison," your mother says formally, kissing you briefly on the forehead. "Your father and I are on the second floor if you need anything. We'll talk in the morning."

"Good night," your father says, looking at you suspiciously from the door.

He and your mother both leave, shutting the door behind them, leaving you standing in the middle of the small dark room, lit only by a small wall sconce.

You stand there for a while, paralyzed by misery, and then slowly get undressed, dropping your clothes on the floor without care. You're pulling the threadbare t-shirt from your middle school play painstakingly over your head when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror over the long dresser. You're shocking pale and your eyes seem bigger than usual. Your cheek is swollen like a chipmunk's from the surgery, but the bruises are fading, though not on your stomach. You can't believe this sad pathetic creature is you.

You turn away from the mirror abruptly and turn towards the light switch, but you're stopped in your tracks by the sight of a glass of water and your bottle of painkillers on your bedside table.

Apparently your parents don't suspect you of abusing your meds.

Idiots, you think derisively, and grab for the bottle.

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately for you, overdosing on these particular painkillers does not make you high, just extremely nauseous, and you spend most of the night pacing around the bedroom trying not to vomit before falling into an uneasy sleep.

You wake to your mother's hand on your back as she sits beside you on the sagging mattress, and jerk away in fear.

"Allison..." she says, looking rather taken aback, and then her face goes blank. "We've made breakfast. Come downstairs."

You don't move, heart still pounding wildly at the scare, but she continues to look at you expectantly.

Slowly, you uncurl from your defensive position and follow her down the narrow staircase to the ground floor. Your father is in the kitchen making eggs and toast-they must have gone grocery shopping this morning- and you sit down at the kitchen table in the seat closest to the front door, even though you doubt you could get very far.

Your mother hands you a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of orange juice, and she and your father sit down across from you with their breakfast, stony expressions in both their faces.

You stare at them blankly, even though you're really hungry right now and the oatmeal smells great.

"We are going to have a calm, _rational_ discussion about this, and then decide on a course of action," your father says seriously.

"Your behavior has been unacceptable, and we need you to understand that we will not tolerate this kind of acting out," your mother says, without missing a beat. You wonder if they rehearsed this.

It kind of blows your mind that they still think you're salvageable. Did they think you were joking about sleeping with two werewolves?

They pause, clearly expecting a response, but you don't oblige them, and instead take the bloody gauze out of your mouth and take a small spoonful of oatmeal, gingerly swallowing it.

"Allison!" your father says furiously, eyes narrowing. "Enough of the silent treatment-speak!"

"Why?" you drawl, stirring the oatmeal with your spoon. "It's clear that you have no interest in anything I have to say. Thus, the kidnapping."

" _Kidnapping_?" your mother scoffs disbelievingly. "Allison, we're your parents!"

"Did I not tell you I didn't want anything to do with you?" you reply, biting back the rising anger in your chest. "And yet here I am."

"You don't get to make that decision," your father says, shoulders very stiff.

"No, apparently I don't get to make any decisions," you snap.

"Well, maybe there's a reason for that!" your mother bursts out, slamming both hands on the table and leaping to her feet. “What were you _thinking_?! How could you not come to us!”

You’re horrified to see that she’s in tears. You’ve never seen your mother cry before. It makes you want to hide.

You think I didn’t want to come to you? you think furiously. You think I never wanted to tell you I knew what you were? Alone, locked in my room, trying to pretend I never saw you kill her? When Isaac was turned? When Gerard tried to kill me?

“How could I _ever_ trust you?” you say, shaking, in fury or fear you don’t quite know.

They both stare at you with wide eyes, shocked into speechlessness. Of course this never would have occurred to them, you think in disgust. Your parents are unerringly self-centered.

“We’re your family,” your father says quietly, looking ten years older.

“Yeah, some family,” you sneer, but the trembling in your voice ruins the effect.

Your father looks mutinous and you look down automatically at your bowl, taking another bite of oatmeal just for something to do.

"What is that supposed to mean?" your mother asks dangerously, remaining on her feet.

"It means I don't understand why you even care," you say in a low voice, shaking in an effort to remain in control. "You've never been happy with me. Whatever I did I was never good enough for you and now you know I never will be. This is your chance to get rid of me. You won't have to deal with my issues anymore."

Your parents just stare at you in disbelief.

"What are you looking at?" you ask angrily, voice rising. "Did you think I didn't know what you think of me? As if it wasn't perfectly clear you thought of me as a failure even before you found out what I spent my free time doing!"

Your mother claps a hand over her mouth suddenly, tears spilling onto her cheeks. You jerk back in disgust and disbelief. Why is she _crying_? What is wrong with her? You want her to stop, it's grossing you out.

"Y-you're our daughter," your father says hoarsely, looking like he's about to start crying himself. You've never seen him look like that before. "Why would we ever want to get rid of you?"

"Shut up," you say lowly, gripping your spoon with your plastered fingers awkwardly. "I'm not stupid. Don't pretend you give a shit. Just leave me alone."

You never swear in front of your parents, and it's a testament to how upset they are that they don't reprimand you.

You scoff shakily at their shocked silence, and take an angry bite of your oatmeal. You know they hate you. You don't see the point of them not admitting it.

"I'm not going to change!" you burst out suddenly, dropping the spoon in your bowl with a clang. "And I don't want to. I _like_ the way I am, _finally_. I like that I'm not like you. You can't make me."

"Allison, just let us explain!" your father says, anguished.

"I told you I don't need explanations!" you say, struggling to get out of your seat on the bench. You feel your eyes fill with tears, because you know what they're planning now, and you can't stop it. "I know everything! I know who you are, what you do, and I want no part of it!"

You leave the kitchen before you start sobbing pathetically and race back upstairs, your ribs protesting at your careless exertion. You slam the door of your bedroom behind you and curl up under the moldy-smelling thermal blanket on the bed and cry.

They're never going to let you leave. They're just going to keep you here until they can brainwash you to be like them.

You cry until you're too tired to continue, and then you just lie on the bed in a miserable haze.

You think about Scott and Isaac back at home, what they're thinking right now. They must be tearing apart the town looking for you, but they'll never find you, not here. Will you ever see them again? Or Lydia? Or Melissa, God you hope she's okay.

You think about escaping, running into the woods. But you know you wouldn't get very far. Oh, God, how long can they keep you here? Months? Years? You have a panic attack thinking about it, gasping for breath under the blanket.

Maybe it'd be better if you just died.

You take another painkiller, but don't leave the room, or even get out of bed. Your door opens around mid afternoon, and your mother comes to sit down next to you on the mattress.

"Allison," she says quietly, putting a tentative hand on your back. You resist the automatic urge to shrug it off. "Allison, I've made you some soup. You need to eat and take your pills."

You don't move.

"Allison, you need to get up," she says more sternly. "You need to eat if you want to recover."

Maybe if you don't take your antibiotics you'll get an infection and die, you think idly.

"Allison!" she says, voice going shrill. "Allison, get up immediately!"

She rips the blanket off you when you don't respond. "Allison!"

Seconds tick by, and then she throws the blanket back down on top of you. "Fine, then, starve!" she says furiously, and then stomps out of the room.

Your father comes up a couple minutes later to try to reason with you, and it ends the same way.

And your parents think _you're_ the one with emotional problems, you think, curling up in a ball under the blanket. They're the ones who can't deal with a problem without losing their tempers.

Eventually they give in and just leave a bowl of tomato soup on your beside table. By nightfall your stomach aches in hunger so badly that you surface and carefully slurp up the cold liquid. There are three pill bottles on your beside table now: your painkillers, antibiotics, and antidepressants. You take the painkiller, but ignore the other two and try not to suffocate under the weight of your bleak future. Maybe if you make yourself sick they'll realize how screwed up you are and let you go.

Shortly after you finish your soup, your parents come back up to your room, voices raised in argument.

"...ris, I don't think that's a good-"

"No, I've had enough of this!" your father says angrily, storming into the room. "Allison, get up! Enough of this temper tantrum!"

You open your eyes and observe your cast in the dim light penetrating your blanket. It's kind of been itching the last couple hours, and it's really annoying.

“Did you take your medication?” he demands.

You don't reply and then hear the sound of someone picking up the pill bottles. “They're all still here,” your mother says after a moment.

“This is incredibly childish, Allison,” your mothers says condescendingly, almost but not quite able to conceal the anger in her voice. “You need to take your pills. This is not optional.”

Just leave me alone, you think hazily, so tired and numb from the painkillers.

"Fine! You won't take your antibiotics, then you don't get your pain medication either!" your father shouts.

Cold fear rushes through you as you hear the sound of the pills clacking together in their bottle as he snatches it off the bedside table.

You sit up so quickly it makes your head spin, the blanket falling to your waist, and stare at him incredulously. It's not enough that they've kidnapped you, trapped you in this horrible place away from your friends. Now they're going to torture you?

"Finally!" he exclaims, a little red in the face. "Now you are going to take your medication, come downstairs, and then we are going to have a rational conversation about this."

You burst into tears.

Your father actually rears back in shock, and you crumple down to the bed to hide your loud messy sobs in the pillow.

How can this be happening to you? All the times you imagined them finding out, not once did you ever think it'd be like this. You thought they'd disown you. Not this. This is so much worse.

" _Chris_! I told you-" your mother hisses, and then cuts herself off. "Allison, alright, come here."

You shrink away from her touch, hiding under the sheets, but she picks you up and puts your head in her lap, stroking your hair.

"You're alright," your mother says in an attempt to be soothing. "It's going to be okay."

It's not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am a terrible person. I feel like you shouldn't be surprised at this point, though. Please comment!


	28. Who, who are you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, guys, I just couldn't resist with another Paint graphic! They're just so much fun! I'm sure one day I will be embarrassed about them, but it is not this day!

* * *

 

You give in. You eat the food they make you, take your antibiotics and antidepressants, the latter making you even more tired than you were before. You've never actually taken them before, always just flushed them, but you don't bother telling your parents that you're not really clinically depressed. Or maybe you are now. Either way they make you so lethargic you barely have the energy to sit up.

You drift. You spend most of the next day sleeping out of sheer boredom, woken intermittently by pain in your jaw, hunger pangs, or the need to relieve yourself. Your parents come up and try to talk to you every so often, but you don't speak to them at all. There's no point.

Days pass. You're not sure how many, though you could probably figure it out if you started counting the meals. You have vivid nightmares about being back in your kitchen in Beacon Hills, being tortured by Araya's men, being raped, and no matter how many times you tell yourself that it's over, that you have bigger things to worry about now, it doesn't help. You start to smell after a while, and when your parents notice your mother yanks you out bed and drags you down to the second floor bathroom, demanding you take a shower. You stand under the cold spray for a while, but don't bother to turn the temperature up or wash. You're no longer shivering by the time you decide to come out and your mother yells at you when she notices how blue your lips are and that you got your cast wet when you come out of the bathroom. They wrap you up in blankets on the checkered couch in the living room and make you drink hot tea while they examine your cast and discuss whether they should bring you to a doctor's office to get a new one. You stare blankly at the front door and wonder just how far you could get if you snuck out in the middle of the night. Probably not far. You're really in the middle of nowhere.

They're furious with you. Call you selfish, childish. Demand to know how long you're going to keep up the silent treatment. Their anger used to terrify you, but it's lost its effectiveness now due to overexposure. And as they invariably lose their temper and patience, you've learned to wait it out until they give up and stomp back into the kitchen.

You spend the rest of the day on the couch, watching the leafless branches sway back and forth from the wind through the front window. It starts to snow just before sunset and an even eerier silence falls over the house, broken only by your parents low conversation in the kitchen.

“You're just going to lie around forever?” your father asks cuttingly as he comes into the dark room after the sun has set. He sets something down on a side table and turns on a lamp. “Make your mother and I wait on you hand and foot like a vegetable?”

You've just taken another painkiller and are a little woozy, the only explanation why you actually respond.

“No one asked you to do that,” you say hoarsely, not looking away from the front window. You haven't spoken in days and both your jaw and throat protest in response.

“We're your family,” your father shoots back immediately, still not understanding that that means very little to you right now. “We will never give up on you.”

That's equal parts gratifying and terrifying, you think, and feel your eyes fill with tears. You close them so he won't see and don't respond. You have years of practice of not engaging, of choosing not to fight battles you know you will lose, your entire childhood really, and you are not about to break the habit now.

“What are you doing, Allison?” your father asks frustratedly, not about to give up so quickly when this is the first time you've responded to him in days. “How long are you going to wallow like this?”

Any hesitation from his previous declaration dries up immediately at this.

“I turn eighteen in less than two months,” you tell him calmly, not opening your eyes. You have to clench your uninjured first at your side to keep yourself calm. “At which point I will stop _wallowing_ and leave.”

There is a long silence.

“Allison,”' he says shakily, but doesn't elaborate. You hear him leave the room and go back into the kitchen a minute later.

You open your eyes and look out the window again, wiping them carefully with your good hand. Your throat and chest feel very tight. You want to cry, but you don't have the energy.

Weeks until your eighteenth birthday. There's a light at the end of the tunnel, but you honestly don't think you can survive that long. Your birthday is at the end of January, which means you have to survive Christmas and New Year's up here, trapped in this little house with parents who will never support you. Who will never let you see your friends or boyfriends again.

You take a deep breath and try to tell yourself not to be stupid, that this isn't really that bad. There are so many people in the world in far worse situations than the one you're in now. If they can survive, so can you. You have to be strong.

It doesn't help.

 

* * *

 

You wake up in the middle of the night in a panic, struggling to get out from under the blankets and _away_ , the sight of Araya's men advancing on you flashing across your vision. You can still feel the burn of ropes around your wrists and you suddenly can't bear to be static anymore. You get off the couch and walk mindlessly through the downstairs hallways.

You can't do this, you think frantically. You can't _do this_. How are you supposed to survive however many more weeks of this? What's to say your parents will even let you go after you turn eighteen? After all that they've done, do you really think they would hesitate adding kidnapping their own daughter and holding her against her will to the list?

You scour the first floor in blind desperation for your mother's purse, but of course she isn't stupid enough to leave her keys anywhere you could get to them during the night. Then your freakout turns into a full blown panic attack, and you hide yourself in linen closet across from the second floor bathroom as a last resort to quell your irrational terror. It doesn't really work, but it does give you the illusion of the tiniest bit of control over your life, something you're severely lacking at the moment.

You're too terrified to sleep, and curl as much into a ball as possible without straining your ribs, leaning your head against the back wall. At some point you realize you're freezing, your sweat cooling on your trembling body, and reach up to bat a dusty towel down from the shelves with your cast. You drape it over yourself and huddle into the corner.

How did you get here? you wonder blankly. How could you have been worried about finals and winter break mere days ago? What has happened to your life? How could it change so drastically in less than half an hour?

Thinking this just makes you feel worse, and you vainly try to turn your mind elsewhere. Don't think about it, Allison, you tell yourself. Don't remember it. You can't change it, just like you can't change your situation now.

Your mind seems to go blank after a while out of self-preservation, but you can't fall asleep for a long time, the creaks of the house from the outside wind causing you to jolt into wakefulness every so often.

You wake from an uneasy sleep to the pounding of feet outside your closet.

“Allison!” you hear your mother shout as she climbs the stairs to the attic. “Allison! Chris, wake up, she's gone!”

You hear your father bolt out of the second floor bedroom and listen to them search the house for you idly. You feel very numb and detached listening to them panic, even when they inevitably discover your hiding place.

“Allison!” your father exclaims down at you and you clench your eyes tight to block out the light. “What are you doing in there, didn't you hear us yelling for you?”

“Allison, come out of there immediately!” your mother demands from farther away and you hear quick footsteps on the stairs.

“Alright, Allison, come on,” your father says, and pulls you out of the closet. You keep your eyes shut as you're lifted into the air and carried downstairs into the kitchen.

“Are you hurt?” he asks you, sitting down on the bench of the kitchen table and balancing you in his lap.

Your jaw and ribs kind of ache, but not as badly as they did when you first got here. You're slowly healing, the bruises on your face turning a sickly green and yellow, and the ones under your shirt fading to a lighter purple. You stopped needing the gauze for the inside of your mouth days ago and your nose doesn't hurt as much when you move it. You welcome the relief, but you also know it means that you'll be out of painkillers soon.

“Allison?” your father says and you flinch as he puts the back of his hand on your forehead to check if you have a fever. You hate that he's holding you like this. It reminds you of Scott. You don't want to be touched by him.

“What were you doing in there?” your mother demands angrily. “Do you have any idea how worried we were?”

You open your eyes and look longingly out the small hexagonal kitchen window that reveals the snowy backyard. You wonder how long it will be until they let you outside again.

“This can't go on,” your mother says shakily, but she's not talking to you anymore. “What is wrong with her?”

“Should we not have left?” your father says quietly. “Should we have staye-”

“No,” your mother says definitively. “No, we had to get her out of there, it wasn't safe. But, Chris, I think...I think she needs to talk to someone. Not some hack like that Pearlman woman. Someone who specializes in...in...”

She doesn't seem to be able to finish and sits down across the table from you, sagging down to lie her head on the table in defeat. You've never seen her so miserable before and it occurs to you you should be feeling something besides apathy about this, but you don't. You think the antidepressants you're taking might be dulling your emotional responses. Maybe you should start taking more than one dose a day.

“Why won't you talk to us?!” your mother demands, sitting up suddenly and looking tearfully at you. “How are we supposed to help you if you won't tell us what you need?!”

“I really don't see much of a point in that,” you say with difficulty, throat dry from not speaking. You look away from her face, uncomfortable at her uncharacteristic display of emotion and slide out of your father's arms to sit at the other corner of the table. You'd like to leave, but you're so tired and you know they'd just follow you.

You hear her cough, like she's suppressing a sob, and almost shiver in disgust.

“Who could she talk to who wouldn't think she's insane?” your father asks. “They'd have to be one of us.”

You let out a snort of laughter at the thought. A hunter psychologist. Yeah, probably not many of those.

“You think that's funny?” your father snaps.

You put your elbows on the table and rest your left cheek carefully on the heel of your hand. “Not really,” you mumble, staring down at the wood grain. It kind of looked like a screaming face.

“You need help, Allison,” your father says tersely. “Look at you, you barely eat, you won't get out of bed, you're hiding in closets. I don't think those pills are working.”

“Pills will not make me hate you any less,” you say, idly running your fingers over the face in the table.

There is a long pause and you wonder if they're going to start yelling again. You think it would be preferable to their fake concern.

“We have done nothing to deserve your hate,” your mother says, suppressed rage behind every word. “You may not understand this now, but we're trying to protect you.”

“You're holding me here against my will,” you say tiredly. “You took me away from my f-friends-” Your voice cracks on the words and you squeeze your lips shut for a moment to regain your composure. “And I don't know how long you're going to keep me here,” you finish finally, closing your eyes against the tears welling up in your eyes.

“We're trying to keep you safe,” your father says hoarsely.

“I don't feel very safe,” you tell him, resting your forehead on the tabletop. “I feel like I want to go to sleep and not wake up.”

To be fair, this doesn't have anything to do with them, though they sure as hell aren't helping. After what happened, you probably have PTSD or something. But you don't want to be fair. They kidnapped you, took you away from your support system when you needed them most. If you have to be in pain so should they.

“What do you want?” your mother barks. “We're not taking you back to Beacon Hills. Back to those... _boys_. It's not safe, how could, how could you expect us to do that?”

“I expect nothing from you,” you say quietly. It helps that you're not looking at her.

Neither of your parents have anything to say to this, and after a second you stand and make your way out of the room.

“Where are you going?” your mother demands.

“Upstairs,” you tell her without looking. “I'm cold.”

 

* * *

 

You're shaken awake a couple hours later.

"Allison," your father says, sounding very distant. "Allison, please, we need you to get up."

"Go 'way," you mumble, hiding your face in your pillow, though it kind of hurts your nose.

"Allison!" your mother says. “Get up now, please.”

"I don't want to," you mumble. "I just want to sleep."

"Allison," your father says, and you feel a hand between your shoulders shake you gently.

"Leave me alone," you tell him tiredly.

"We need to talk about the future," your father says. “Now, come on, sit up.”

His words send a pang of fear through you, and you reluctantly roll over and sit up, eyeing the two of them warily. They're both sitting on the edge of your bed, closer than you realized. You scoot to the side to put more space between you.

“What?” you say testily when neither of them say anything, just look at you.

“We're not going back to Beacon Hills,” your mother says slowly. “We'll go to a different town, a safer town, where we can start over.”

“I'll run the first chance I get,” you spit.

Your mother looks mutinous, lips thinning dramatically.

“We're trying to come to some sort of compromise,” your father says, fist tightening on the bedspread.

“ _That's_ your idea of a compromise?” you say in disgust, leaning back against the headboard. “How typical. No. We go back to Beacon Hills and you let me do what I want.”

"That is _not_ going to happen!” your mother snaps.

“Victoria, wait, just…” your father says, and turns back to you. “That's not a compromise either,” he says, mouth twisting with effort to keep his composure.

“Oh, yes, it is,” you snap. “What I want is for you to leave me alone, but since apparently that's not going to happen, I think that's the next best option.”

Your parents look stricken and anger rises in your chest. Did they not _believe_ you when you told them you were done with them? Of course they didn't. They've never thought you were worth listening to.

“We will not allow you to see those werewolves again,” your mother says angrily.

“What are you going to do, keep me here for the rest of my life?” you say, voice rising with every word, tears stinging in your eyes. The mere thought of it makes you want to vomit, even though you know there's a worse alternative. There's a chance that if they think they can't change your mind they might send you to some hunter camp to be brainwashed.

You don't want to see how they react to that and bring your knees up to hide your face in them, willing yourself not to sob.

How is this happening to you? you think for the hundredth time.

“We have to keep you safe,” your father insists, but he sounds bewildered by your reaction.

You don't reply. There's only so many times you can have this conversation before you lose it even more than you already have.

“You can't trust them,” your mother says. “Allison, you have to understand that. No matter what they pretend, they're vicious animals. They _kill_ people, you have no idea how many.”

“Isaac and Scott have never hurt me,” you say dully. “They're pretty much the only reason we're all alive.”

“That may be,” your father says tersely. “But that still doesn't mean they're safe to be around.”

You sit up straight to glare at them. “Do you know how many times I've been alone with them?!” you say, hands shaking with rage. “How many times I've _fucked_ them? You think they're going to hurt me? They cou-”

“You watch your mouth!” your mother says, leaping to her feet, face tight with suppressed fury.

“Or _what_? Are you going to hit me again?” you say, only barely managing to keep your voice from cracking you're so enraged.

Your mother freezes for a second, and then her mouth twists in discomfort. “I shouldn't have done that,” she says lowly.

“No, you shouldn't have,” you reply, but you're honestly surprised to hear her say it. Your parents rarely admit they're wrong. “You could have screwed up my jaw even more.”

Your mother looks away from you after a second, crossing her arms over her dark blue sweater and looking at the long dresser in front of your bed instead.

“You can't trust them,” your father repeats your mother, shoulders stiff as a bored. “You think hunters have never been bitten? They have. A friend of mine was and when he turned on the full moon, he tried to kill me. I was forced to put a bullet in his head,” he says furiously, eyes bright with intensity. “The whole while he lay there dying he was still trying to claw his way toward me, still trying to kill me, like it was the most important thing he could do with his last breath.”

You say nothing, looking at him with muted horror turning your stomach. He killed a friend of his. This is who they are. Why are you even bothering trying to convince them? It's like arguing with religious fundamentalists. Facts and reason mean nothing to them.

“Do you understand!?” your mother snaps in a tone of voice that never failed to make you cower growing up. “They are more dangerous than you could possibly imagi-”

“T-they are not dangerous to me,” you say shakily. “You are.”

“Don't you understand we're trying to protect you?!” your father bursts out, cheeks reddening.

“You don't protect me, _I_ protect me!” you shout back, refusing to be cowed by his outburst, even though shouting hurts your jaw. “ _I_ found out what Gerard was planning. _I_ stopped him. _You_...you make me miserable.”

Your father looks at you incredulously, mouth falling open a bit.

“Why didn't you come to us?!” your mother cries, tears running down both cheeks. “Allison, all of this could be avoided if you just talked to us!”

“After you _murdered_ Emily Doroshenko!?” you retort, your eyes stinging. “I was supposed to trust you after you slit my classmate’s throat in our _backyard_?!”

“We're your parents!” your father shouts, but he looks small in his white undershirt and you tell yourself you are not afraid of his ire.

“Your classmate?” your mother frowns, distracted from her tears. “Was this in Colorado?”

“Have you killed _more than one_ of my classmates?” you ask disbelievingly and let out a despairing sob. You wipe your eyes furiously, but can't stop your face from crumpling in anguish. You cover your face and force yourself to take deep breaths to regain your composure. You can't appear any weaker in front of them than you already have.

“That girl killed three people if I remember correctly,” your father says after a moment. “We have a code, we only kill those who've hurt people.”

“She was begging for her life,” you say hoarsely, not daring to look up at him. You see it all over again, flashing in front of your eyes like it was yesterday. You remember everything: her desperate pleas, your parents’ impassive expressions, the blood splatter on her black and white band t-shirt, your father's ripped denim jacket. “She needed help. And you killed her.”

“Tell that to the families of the people she murdered!” your mother says sharply. “We gave them justice!”

“Revenge isn't justice,” you tell her with a helpless, inappropriate laugh, finally forcing yourself to look up at her. “It's just revenge. You _killed_ her. You ended any chance of her ever gaining control.”

“Werewolves don't have control on the full moon,” your mother retorts.

“I can tell you from personal experience that they can,” you tell her. You wonder what they would say if you told them you lost your virginity on a full moon. You guess that's not the best example, though, considering how much of a disaster it was. Isaac was always pretty reticent to do anything more than kissing on the full moon after that and Scott always actively avoids being around people if he can help it.

“But you don't care about my personal experience, do you?” you ask, feeling suddenly very tired and lean back against the headboard. “You'll never stop.”

“Is that what you want?” your father asks. “For us to stop?”

You scoff up the ceiling. What a stupid question.

A pause.

“We…” your father says slowly. “We can discuss that.”

You look down to stare at him in shock. What?

“What?” you say suspiciously.

“That is an acceptable part of our compromise,” your mother say stiffly, not looking like she finds this acceptable at all.

“I don't believe you,” you tell them, heart pounding in your chest. This can't be happening, you think, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Just like that? Hunting is their entire life. And they're going to stop just because you asked them to?

“That's what you want, isn't it?” your father says, a deeply uncomfortable look on his face. He is not used to making concessions.

“Yes, I want you to _stop_ ," you say vehemently, the words bursting out of you without forethought. "You have to stop hurting people. You have to stop killing. You can't hurt _anyone_ anymore."

"We protect people from-" your father starts.

"Then _protect_ them! Don't kill anyone. Do you honestly think you've never hurt anyone who didn't deserve it?" you say accusingly. "Because I _know_ you have."

"We hunt those who hunt us," your father says stubbornly. "You can't expect us to-"

"It's not that simple," you argue, starting to feel a little light-headed from exertion. "You can't just go from town to town looking for werewolves to kill no questions asked."

"That's not what we-"

"That's exactly what you do," you say, tearing up and clutching your legs tighter to keep from shaking. "That's what Kate did, what Gerard did, and it needs to _stop_. Or you _will_ lose me for good. I promise you that."

Your parents look at each other dubiously.

"I thought you said you didn't want to be involved in hunting," your mother says, straightening the sheets at the end of the bed compulsively.

"Hunting, no. Protecting people, yes," you reply. "That's what we all want: Scott, Isaac, Lydia, Stiles, hell, even Derek's come around. But you don't get to decide who lives and who dies. Not anymore."

Your parents seem to have a silent conversation made up of unreadable expressions. You watch them nervously, your heart pounding in your chest and throat dry from talking so much, very much aware how much rides on this.

"We can do that,” your mother says finally. “But you have to compromise too. You have to come with us to a new town. We can't stay in Beacon Hills anymore.”

You freeze and look up at her in shock, even though you really shouldn't be surprised. You should have expected this.

“That's not fair,” you whisper.

“Life isn't fair,” your mother says predictably. It's one of her favorite expressions. “These are our terms.”

You look to your father automatically, but of course he shows no sympathy for your predicament.

You lean your head back again and stare blankly at your reflection in the mirror above the dresser.

You know what you have to do. If you can save lives by going with them, you have to do it. It's what Scott would do.

It isn't what Isaac would do. Isaac is so broken from his trauma he would do anything to keep what he has, even sacrifice the lives of others. He would do anything for you. Scott wouldn't.

You could be like Isaac. You've always been more like him anyway. You could let this turn you selfish and apathetic to all except who you care about. You could be happy.

You'd rather be like Scott, if you had a choice. Find another way.

“Allison,” your mother says impatiently. “What do you say? Do you accept?”

You don't have a choice, though. Saying no will not let you see Isaac and Scott again. You can't say no. They'll just keep you here forever.

“No,” you say.

“What?” your father says, stunned. “What do you mean, no?”

“No,” you repeat. “That's no choice at all. I want to go back to Beacon Hills. I want Isaac and Scott. And my friends. I want you to stop hunting.”

“You can't always get what you w-”

“No,” you agree with your mother. “But I will this time.”

“And why is that?” your father says icily.

“Because you care more than I do,” you say calmly, even though you don't feel very calm. You feel as though your insides might vibrate out of your skin because you know this is the only weapon you have against them. “And right now I care very little. You have a year and a half to change that. In Beacon Hills.”

Your parents stare at you with disbelieving faces, eyes wide.

“These are my terms,” you say and do not blink.

 

* * *

 

Your parents make potato leek soup and green beans for dinner, and when your mother calls for you, you actually get out of bed and go down to the kitchen to eat instead of ignoring her. You focus on your food, but you can feel them watching you intently as you cut your green beans into manageable bites.

“Is it too tough for your jaw?” your father asks brusquely while you hear your mother filling up her wine glass again.

“No,” you reply neutrally, keeping your eyes on your plate.

Your mother slams her wine glass down on the table, the red liquid nearly spilling over onto the wood and you look up at her warily, tensing in preparation for a fight.

Your mother doesn't say anything for a moment, though, just looks at you with her jaw so tight you're surprised she hasn't cracked her teeth.

"Those boys..." she says tightly, voice dripping with disgust. "Isaac and Scott. You are...dating them both?"

“Yeah," you say, watching her face closely.

She looks like she might be sick. Next to her, your father grips his cutlery so tightly his knuckles turn white. His rage is so visceral it's almost comical. Almost.

"Why?" your mother asks in disgust.

"They're mine," you say flatly, swallowing back the lump of tension in your throat. Your parents would not believe you if you said you love them. Which is fair, because you wouldn't believe a seventeen year old who said that either.

They both look confused and uncertain at this.

"You've used protection?” your mother demands sharply. “Every time?"

“Yes," you say, expressionless, but cringe inwardly.

" _That_ is not going to continue," your father says, looking like he'd rather throw himself off the roof than have this conversation. "Where did you even get those...rings?"

“Melissa," you reply, glaring at his interference. "She thought I was just dating Isaac, though. She probably knows now, I guess."

"So they share you," your mother says hollowly. Beside her your father takes a large swallow of wine, like it will offer him solace. So you guess that's genetic too.

"No," you say, even as you wonder if this is only making it less likely they bring you back to Beacon Hills. "They're together too."

"What?!" your father exclaims, looking appalled.

“I was dating Isaac first," you explain shortly, tightening your grip around your fork. "And we both liked Scott. He liked us back."

They stare.

“You don't have to understand," you say, rolling your eyes even as your legs shake uncontrollably under the table. "Just...it's not a big deal."

"No, it definitely _is_ a big deal-" your father starts angrily, but your mother cuts him off.

"Have either of them ever hurt you?” she demands, looking very much afraid of the answer. “Or done anything you didn't want them to. I need you to answer me honestly. "

" _No_ ," you bite out. "They're not like that. _They_ don't hurt people. "

Your mother frowns and your father continues to look on the verge of smashing something.

“And it is going to continue, because I want it to,” you tell him, seeing no point in holding anything back. “I want them.”

“Why are you doing this to us?” your mother asks despairingly, her eyes bright, while your father clenches his teeth in anger.

“My romantic choices don't actually have anything to do with you,” you reply coldly. You take a drink of water, but eye the bottle of red wine between your parents across the table enviously. You suppose asking for a glass would just make things worse.

Silence falls over the table again and a gust of wind blows against the south side of the house, causing a pile of snow to fall off the roof with a soft thump. You turn to look at the wood-paneled wall to your left and wonder if it snowed in Beacon Hills, too.

“If we go,” your father says through gritted teeth and you turn to look at him quickly, heart leaping in your chest. “You will stay with us. You won’t try to run away.”

“Yes,” you say, entire body on edge, your heart pounding rapidly in your chest and you feel the sensation everywhere.

“Chris!” your mother hisses, turning to him sharply. “Don’t just…” She trails off and then turns back to you, face twisting in irritation.

“How are we supposed to trust you again?” she asks you.

“I could say the same to you,” you retort. “And really, did you ever trust me?”

Your mother’s mouth thins, but her eyes look tired. You can see her defeat.

“We’ll have to work on that then,” you father says softly. It sounds strange, that tone of voice on him, almost gentle. You have never particularly thought of him as a gentle person.

Is this really happening? you think, watching their resigned expressions with laser sharp focus. You bet everything on this, but part of you still can’t believe they would go this far for you. It seems strange they would expend so much effort.

"You won't try to run away anymore?" your mother snaps. "Or any of this...this..." She waves her hand at your disheveled appearance.

"I'll stay," you say, feeling exhausted all of the sudden.

"Fine," she says shortly, picking up her wine glass again.

“We’ll leave tomorrow,” your father says when you don’t say anything. “Now finish your dinner.”

You stare and then force yourself to look back down at your plate, ears ringing. You pick up your silverware and clear your plate with shaking hands, willing yourself not to cry.

You’re going home. You’re _going home_.

“Can I have my phone?" you ask carefully after a moment, afraid of jinxing it, but very much aware everything could change on a whim.

“Why?" your mother asks suspiciously.

“So I can call them and tell them I'm coming back tomorrow."

Your parents exchange glance. “It’s upstairs,” your father says.

You eat faster.

After you’ve finished, your father goes up to the second floor to bring back your phone.

It's dead. Your charger is still at Scott's and your parents both have iPhones. You curse yourself for not memorizing any of your friends' numbers and try not to panic.

"We'll leave tomorrow morning," your father says quickly, seeming to sense the danger.

You nod shakily and tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear distractedly.

“I’m going to bed,” you tell them as your mother puts the dishes into the metal sink in the kitchen, afraid you’ll lose your composure if you stay down here any longer.

“Wait,” you mother says suddenly as you make to leave the room.

You freeze in your tracks, fear jolting through you, and turn around to watch her dry her hands on the dish towel and approach you.

She puts her hand on your shoulder and leans in to kiss your cheek. You barely manage to not flinch away and clutch your dead phone in your right hand tightly.

“Good night, Allison,” she says formally, pulling back with a soft expression on her face.

You flee up to your room in the attic before they can stop you and hide your face in your pillow to muffle your sobs.

 

* * *

 

You wake to the sounds of movement below you the next morning, and scramble out of bed and down the stairs so quickly you almost crash into the wall on the second floor.

They're in the kitchen making breakfast, and when you enter the room your father looks up at you in surprise.

"Allison," he says, looking up from the worn cutting board. "You're up early."

You cross your arms over your pajamas t-shirt. "When are we leaving?" you ask nervously.

"When you've eaten," your mother says, opening the fridge and taking out a half gallon of milk. "Your clothes are on top of the green suitcase in the living room. Get dressed and then we'll eat."

You do as you're told, pulling on a pair of old flare jeans and the dark brown sweater your mother bought you for your birthday in the small downstairs bathroom across from the stairs. When you come back into the kitchen there is a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of milk at the table for you, along with your antibiotic.

You're starving despite your nervousness, and wolf it down, wanting to get on the road as soon as possible.

Your mother looks aggrieved at your manners, but sighs and says, "Alright, let's go."

You spend the entire nine hour drive clutching your purse in your lap, watching for signs of them going off course. Your parents exchange words occasionally, but mostly you drive in silence. You stare out the window as the landscape changes from mountainous to foresty, the snow melting away, and wish and wish for this to work out. You feel them looking at you through the rearview mirror every once in a while, but they don't seem to know what to say to you, even when you stop in Eugene for lunch.

It's nearly eight by the time you reach Beacon Hills, and you're practically vibrating with excitement as you recognize the exit.

"Take me to Scott's house," you tell them.

"Absolutely not," your mother says sharply, twisting around in the passenger seat to give you a stern look.

"I need to see them," you say loudly, as firmly as possible. "That is not negotiable."

"This can't wait until tomorrow?" your father grits out without much hope, knuckles white on the steering wheel.

"No."

You watch his shoulders slump for a split second and then he gets in the left lane to turn towards Scott’s neighborhood in two miles.

You can't believe that worked, you think, dazed. Your mother turns back around in her seat, jaw clenched mutinously. They're _listening_ to you.

You’re trembling when you get out in front of Scott’s driveway, because you can’t believe this is happening, that you’re actually getting to do this. You never dreamed in a thousand years they would accept this.

“I’m going to stay the night,” you lean down to tell your mother as she rolls the window down, feeling reckless.

“No, you will not,” your father says, at the same time your mother says, “Out of the question.”

“Yes, I will,” you say flatly. “I’m going to stay the night and I’ll be home tomorrow morning.”

They look furious, but you see the defeat in their eyes, and you know you’ve won.

“I’ll text you wh-”

There’s a loud bang behind you and you whirl around to see that Isaac has flung Scott’s door open, staring at you with wild eyes.

You sprint up Scott’s lawn and he meets you halfway, crushing you to his chest and lifting you up and pressing his face into your neck.

“Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God,” he gasps, clutching at your sweater. “Allison, I thought-”

“I know,” you sob. “I know, mmm, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m okay, just, my ribs…”

He gasps and lets go of you immediately. “Sorry,” he chokes, tears running down his face. He puts his hand on your face carefully and pulls you in close, forehead leaning against yours. “Allison, oh, my God, I thought you were gone-”

“I know, I know,” you whisper, tears running down your cheeks, and your throat hurts from holding back sobs. “But it’s okay, I’m here.”

You wrap your arms around him and look over his shoulder to see Scott at the door as well, holding onto the frame as if it’s the only thing that’s keeping him upright. He doesn’t seem to be able to speak, just gapes at you wordlessly, face pale as a sheet.

“Scott,” you say helplessly. “Come here, please, I-”

He nearly trips over his feet getting you and you let go of Isaac to throw your arms around his shoulders.

“How...how did you,” he chokes breathlessly. “Are you, are you okay? What happened, how-?”

“‘M okay, I promise,” you say into his hair. “I’m not going anywhere. I'm staying here."

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," he stammers, sounding more terrified than you've ever heard him. "It's all my fault, I was so stupid, I never should have let you go there alone-"

"Shh, it's okay, it's okay," you tell him, voice cracking. You lean back a bit and kiss him chastely on the mouth, cupping his face with your good hand. "I'm okay, I promise."

Scott looks off behind you in the direction of your parents and his eyes widen. “Come inside,” he says quickly, enveloping you in his arms as if he's worried they might try to tear you away from him.

You let him pull you towards his front door without so much as a glance back, leaning your head against his shoulder. You will deal with them tomorrow morning.

"Boys, what have I told you about that do-" Melissa says from the top of the stairs when you come inside. "Allison?" she gasps.

"Hi," you say wetly, wiping tears off your cheeks. "Are you, are you okay? I'm _so_ sorry, my parents, did they...did they hurt you?"

You almost start crying again at the thought of it. Melissa is one of the nicest people you've ever met in your life. She doesn't deserve your parents' wrath.

"Oh, no, sweetheart, I'm fine," she says, coming down the stairs and reaching out to hold you by your upper arms. "They, well, surprised me, but I'm fine. How are _you_ , you look exhausted, come sit down, I'll make you some tea."

Five minutes later you're sitting at Scott's kitchen table, sipping on a mug of earl grey tea, Isaac wrapped around you like a second skin. He can't seem to stop crying, and is kind of embarrassed about it, so he just presses his face into your shoulder and shakes silently while you stroke his hair. Scott sits across from you next to his mother looking like he'd rather join Isaac, but is restraining himself, shifting around in his seat with nervous energy and tapping his fingers on the seat of his chair distractedly.

"I'm really okay," you reassure them, because both Scott and Melissa look almost sick with worry. "I mean, the kidnapping part sucked, but then we talked and...they know now, that I, they know they can't change my mind. So I got them to come back, and they won't hurt anyone anymore. I made them agree."

You can't help say that last part in giddy disbelief. You never thought they'd change. But they said they would, for you, and you don't even know how to describe how that makes you feel. Like you could walk on water, float up into the sky, hit every bullseye at the shooting range.

Scott and Melissa exchange a glance uneasily.

“Okay,” Scott says, apparently deciding not to press the issue. It’s okay though, you understand why they’re still uncertain. But they don't know your parents. They would never let you come back here unless they'd resigned themselves to being unable to control you, not even as a trap. And once your parents make a decision, they stick to it. That's just the type of people they are.

"Have you eaten?" Melissa asks, as Isaac pulls away from your neck a bit, keeping his head ducked as he scrubs his eyes furiously. "Do you want me to make you something?"

"No, I'm fine," you say, curling your toes inside your shoes.

You could eat, but right now you're so impatient to get Isaac and Scott alone you can barely focus on anything else.

"I think I'd like to go upstairs," you tell them, aware you're being incredibly obvious and kind of rude, but you don't really care.

"Oh, okay," Melissa says, and her eyes dart to Scott for a quick second, before she looks away and swallows. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Thanks," you say and get up, Isaac copying you immediately, but Scott looks nervously at his mother for a second before getting to his feet as well.

You're silent as you go upstairs, but the second Scott's bedroom door shuts behind you, he hauls you close, shaking in your arms.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, lips trembling next to your cheek. "I should have done more..."

"No, it's okay," you reply, shaking your head and wrapping your arms around his waist. "I'm sorry about your mom, I didn't think they'd do that. I really thought they wouldn't want me anymore."

But they did. They do. It shouldn't make you so happy given what they're capable of.

"You don't have to go back with them!" Scott says fiercely, drawing back to look at you seriously. "You can stay here, or with Lydia. We'll figure something out."

"No, it's okay," you tell him, smiling gently. "I have to...I have to try, you know. See if they can change. Maybe it won't work out, but..." You shudder a little at the thought. "...I don't want to think about that right now."

Scott still looks worried, but you're done talking, so you draw him over to the bed.

"C'mon," you say insistently, a thread of desperation in your voice.

His face goes soft and he lets you pull him down on the bed, careful not to put any weight on your ribs. You feel the bed shift slightly as Isaac sits down next to you, and close your eyes as Scott kisses your neck with a sudden burst of passion. He runs his hand through your hair roughly and you groan, slipping your hands under his shirt. You tug each other's clothes off, while Isaac presses himself to your side, kissing your ear and nuzzling in his usual manner.

"I need," you gasp, trying to kick your jeans off all the way, Scott's fingers in you only serving to make you more impatient. You grip his shoulders, and then the back of his head, buckling your hips up needily. " _Scott_ , please, can you-"

"Yeah," Scott says, sounding even more out of breath than you, even though he's only grinding up against your hip. He kisses your forehead, your right cheek, eyes at half-mast, hand shaking as he palms your boobs and grabs your left hip. "Just lemme get-"

"Got it," Isaac says, getting up and walking around the bed to get the condoms. Instead of handing one to Scott, he opens it himself and squeezes next to you, leaning against Scott's back. He reaches around Scott to roll it on him, and wow, that should not be as hot as it is.

"Oh, God," Scott hisses, hips jerking. He grits his teeth arms shaking unsteadily over you.

"C'mon," you say impatiently, wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling him down to lie on top of you.

"Right," Scott gasps unsteadily, and pulls at your hip to open your legs wider so he can push into you.

You moan quietly at the burn and clench around him automatically, because God, that's good.

"A-Allison," he practically yelps. "Oh, shit, I-"

"Move," you say squirming around in frustration. "Scott, c'mon, I _need_ you."

He starts to thrust, breath coming short and sharp in your ear, and your ribs ache, but you don't care because he feels so _good_ in you, on top of you, his shoulders under your hands, thumb on your clit.

He moans your name softly under his breath, looking down at you adoringly, and you don't want to think about how close you came to losing this, just want to feel this.

He comes suddenly, a shocked grunt slipping out between his gritted teeth, and he barely manages to keep from collapsing onto you as he pulls off and rolls to the side.

"Sorry," he says shakily as you curl in close to him, stroking down his chest.

"It's okay," you murmur, resting your chin lightly on his left pec and smiling. You press your mouth to it gently in a quick kiss, and reach up to stroke his sweat-damp hair with your left hand. His eyelashes flutter in response.

Behind you Isaac shifts, and you turn over to see him watching you longingly, like he wants to touch you but isn't quite sure how to go about it.

"Isaac," you whisper, breathless at the desire on his face, and splay your legs out wider, reaching for him.

He swallows, hesitant still, but crawls forward between your legs, grabbing another condom and running his fingertips reverently over your bruised abdomen. You breathe shakily as he leans down to kiss your stomach, fisting his hair and closing your eyes as he slides lower.

Later you're comfortably nested between the two of them, Scott lying with his head between your boobs in a well-fucked stupor, and Isaac curled around you protectively, idly playing with your hair. Your ribs kind of ache, as does between your legs, but there's a sense of calmness and contentment in you that you haven't felt since this whole thing began.

You think everything is going to be okay. There's still a lot of work to be done; you have to figure out how to live with your parents now that everything is out in the open, how to show them a different way to protect this town, a better way. You'll have to eventually talk to Melissa about what's going on between the three of you, make her be okay with it. You have to ready yourself for new threats, whether they be other hunters, Malia's parents, or some other supernatural menace that will inevitably come to Beacon Hills.

Scott shifts against you and opens his eyes halfway.

“Hey,” he murmurs, stroking the pads of his fingers gently on your forearm.

“Hey,” Isaac whispers back, ducking his head to press his nose into your shoulder, glancing down at Scott and smiling against your skin.

Scott reaches over to hold Isaac's hand over your hip, smiling up at you gently. You feel their fingers entwining and it sends goosebumps up your spine.

“Hey,” you breathe, and Isaac presses his lips further against your shoulder in a kiss.

Tomorrow, you'll walk back into your parents' house with your head held high, to see if maybe you can be a family again and defend your convictions. You know it won't be easy, but there's still a chance you can do it, and you know you have to try.

But for now, you have this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here ends my 174k+ second-person fic. Yeah. I really don't know why people don't write second-person stories more often, it was a lot of fun!
> 
> A big part of why I wrote this story was to examine the relationship Allison had with her parents. I think the writers glossed over it after S2 because her mother died and her father “became good”, when it's actually a lot more complicated than that. I wanted to write a story that examined the effect Allison's parents' worldview and treatment of her in canon had on her upbringing, in ways she was conscious of and in way she was not. I wanted to write Chris and Victoria being terrible, emotionally abusive parents, which is definitely canon, and a side of them not often explored in fic, but also acknowledge that they love their daughter and do care for her well-being. Reconciliation at the end was always the plan, but I was surprised at how hard it was to write it in a way that I thought was satisfying. I really wanted it to be clear that Allison had agency in her decision to try and work things out with her parents, though I know this is controversial and some of you probably won't be happy with this ending. Whether she will ultimately be able to have an honest and healthy relationship with them is left open ended, but I hope I left things at least somewhat hopeful for the future, because even if it doesn't work out she has people to support her in Beacon Hills.
> 
> Otherwise, I enjoyed writing Allison as the teenageriest teenager to ever teenager, Isaac as the ridiculous human disaster he is, and Scott as the earnest, hardworking hero who just wants to get his homework done (is that too much to ask?) I'm used to writing stories with multiple POVs, so it was sometimes difficult to focus on characterization other than Allison's, but it was definitely fun writing an unreliable narrator.
> 
> For those of you who read On the Side of Caution as well and are now wondering where my epic Scott-centric Scallisaac fic is: do not fear. It is coming, and it will blow your mind. (¬‿¬)Ψ
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who read and commented on this very weird story. Also, many thanks to my awesome beta resonance_and_d for suffering through my long rants about characterization and annoying reminders to beta the next chapter. It was super fun to write, and I hope you all had fun reading it. Don't hesitate to ask if you have any questions about characterization or other writing choices; I will happily rant about my writing anytime. Please comment!


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